#both for this au and like. just in general

[sawxix]

carpool karaoke

[bitteriekitten]

yeehaw. (1/2)

synopsis — save a horse, ride a cowboy or whatever it is that they're saying out there in the wild west. OR the l&ds boys as cowboys. (1/2)

contents — fem!reader, fluff, terrible attempts at writing crack ??????, weak attempts at banter el oh el, reader has a dad who runs a ranch and she works at the ranch alongside the l&ds boys, vague descriptions of ranch life (all source material i have for the ranch lifestyle are all from the cowboy romances i've read. sry), farmhand!xavier, livestock veterinarian!zayne, (brief descriptions of) riding instructor!rafayel, sweaty stinky and shirtless l&ds cowboys, swearing, suggestive content and language, and probably so many more that i've overlooked. lmk if i missed anything !!!

featuring — xavier, zayne, & rafayel (separate fics)

notes — if infold comes out with a cowboy AU multibanner best believe i'm spending half of my life savings just to get all of them 😍 but fr, this was rly fun to make!! i've been referring to the cowboy romances that i read during my hiatus to write this, so i apologize if this isn't an exact replica of the cowboy lifestyle. u can catch sylus and caleb in part 2 <3 i had to separate them bc their AUs are different from what i cooked up for xav zayne and raf (hint: they're bull-riders eheheheh). feedback is most appreciated and if u have any more requests (or jus want to scream abt l&ds with me), you can drop them down in my ask box - no matter how unhinged or wholeseome they may be <3

check out my other stuff here ❤️‍🔥

you stumbled out of your room yawning, startled awake by multiple loud crashes down at the ranch, which was conveniently right outside your window. laughter sounded outside, followed right after by something being dropped and some colorful swearing. you vaguely remembered snoring through your father telling you that he had hired some extra hands, three or so men he’d met at a bar in town. so you couldn’t really be mad at them for being rowdy so early in the morning – they were cowboys. plus it was so early in the morning, you didn't have the energy yet to be pissed. “looks like the princess is finally awake.” your father called from the dining table. he quickly poured orange juice in an empty glass for you. “i don’t wanna hear anything about how fuckin’ loud they are down at the ranch. you should’ve been used to waking up early by now anyway.” “i wasn’t going to.” you said with an eye roll, but thanked him for the orange juice anyway. you then stepped outside, haphazardly putting on shoes to go around the back to see what the new help were doing.

Xavier stuck out like a sore thumb at the ranch, with his light hair and youthful face, but he was definitely still a sight for sore eyes out on the field. when he wasn't handling the livestock, he was moving around bales of hay and other heavy equipment, his biceps bulging and his jaw tense from the effort.

you'd spot him out on the field wearing nothing but grimy jeans, a white hat, a pair of boots, and a pair of leather gloves as he moved a new shipment of hay. it was why you were grateful for a window by your bed; you had full free access to ogle at anything and everything he did out there.

but it was also why you hated it. xavier somehow knew when you'd be watching him, like it was instinctual for him (or you were just staring too much that it bordered on creepiness). he'd catch your eye through the window just as he hauled another bale into the back of his truck, and smile when you'd quickly turn away in embarrassment.

he was a hit with the kids and the chickens, handling them their milk and feed in record time and effectively shutting them up for the next five hours. the horses were a different story with xavier, though. you often had to help him out with them, as they sometimes get a bit picky on who gets to feed and generally care for them.

you couldn't help but find it hilarious that both xavier and the horses flinch whenever they see and come into any kind of contact with each other. he's had a few extremely close calls with their back legs, but they eventually managed to warm up enough for xavier to finally begin sensitivity training for them.

speaking of sensitivity training, you were surprised to spot him outside your home about to knock on your door.

"xavier?" you called, opening the door for him before he could rap his fist on the wood.

"hey, y/n." xavier greeted you as he placed his hand over at the top of your doorframe, leaning over you with his entire height. you gulped at how he was basically towering over you, his shadow covering most of your figure.

"do you think i can borrow your dresses for the horses?" he asked, in the same tone he would use when he would ask for a basket of eggs.

you blanched, taken aback from his request as your flustered state immediately broke. "um. i don't think my dresses will fit the horses." you replied with an eyebrow raised.

"no, it's for me." xavier quickly reassured you, pointing to himself, but it did little to actually reassure you. "i'm starting to do sensitivity training on the new horses we're fostering, and i forgot to bring my usual stuff from my apartment." he said.

you scoffed at his ridiculousness, and how serious he was taking his ridiculousness. "uh... i don't think my dresses will fit you either." you replied, this time with a chuckle you couldn't hold back. your eyes flitted over his figure subconsciously, and he caught you in the act with a smirk.

"how would you know that, y/n?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, his hat tilting along with the movement.

your cheeks burned in embarrassment and you turned away from him, avoiding his eyes that were suddenly very interested in you. "what color did you want that dress, xavier?" you asked instead, walking to your bedroom with him following behind with a chuckle.

xavier in a bright yellow dress over his jeans that barely zipped up his back still managed to look good. he also decided to ditch his hat for one of your ribbon headbands, and also snatched up your father's old new year's glasses from 2006. you held back a laugh behind the palm of your hand as you watched him, wanting to keep it professional for his sake at least.

armed with a folding umbrella, xavier stood by one of the brown horses, who refused to make eye contact with him. he quickly tightened his grip around the rope holding the horse, then clicked open the umbrella, to which the horse flinched back and pulling xavier with him.

you couldn't hold back your laugh when xavier stumbled at the force of the horse's movements. he looked back at you with a grin of his own.

"enjoying yourself, y/n?" he asked.

"very much so," you replied, still laughing.

it continued on for several hours, with xavier getting up to anything just to startle the poor horse. there truly was no wrong way to go about desensitizing a horse - dropping things accidentally and mixing up words managed to work anyway.

by the end of the session, the horse still flinched at the slightest of sudden sounds and movement, but it was less violent now - that's a win in xavier's book. you retired back to your front porch with a book and a pitcher of iced tea after xavier's antics got boring by the 30-minute mark.

you snorted when the cowboy walked up your porch still in your dress and other accessories in hand. he had his hat on this time instead of your headband, which contrasted greatly against the yellow dress he still had on. the dress had dirt on the edges of the skirt and mud splatters over the torso, which also splattered over the side of his neck.

it was infuriating how he still managed to look so fucking good.

"you're doing the laundry for that one." you told him instead, laughing loudly as he approached you. he took your half-empty glass of iced tea and drank all of it in one go.

"i think i managed to zip this thing up completely after i crawled in between shane's legs." xavier said as he poured himself another glass.

you snorted, "why'd you give the horse a human name?"

xavier shrugged, "he looked like a shane."

you laughed again, and xavier smiled to himself as he finished drinking up his second glass of iced tea. he set down the glass back on its coaster and turned his back to you, "can you unzip me? i cant reach the zipper now that it's zipped all the way up."

you laughed as your hands reach up to undo the zipper. it only zipped up to his lower back, right below where his hard chest couldn't be squeezed into the fabric. but miraculously it managed to zip all the way up.

"never thought i'd be the one unzipping my dress from another person." you joked. xavier turned his head to you with a raised eyebrow and one corner of his lips upturned into a smirk.

"oh? did you want me to unzip your dress for you, then?" he teased as the zipper finally opened up enough for him to take his arms out of the dress's sleeves.

"i- xavier!" you exclaimed, face slowly heating up again like he did earlier in the day.

you stared at his glistening back as he stepped out of the dress through the skirt. xavier turned to face you this time, folding your dress neatly into one hand. his head tilted to the side and a deceivingly innocent smile appeared on his face as he held out his hand for you to take.

"come on. show me where you do your laundry." he said, back to his innocent antics like he didn't just give you a heart attack.

Zayne looked like he should be the last person working at a ranch. he showed up like he stumbled upon the wrong place at the wrong time, his eyes unsure and uneasy.

but then your father quickly steered him to the heavily pregnant goat inside the barn, whose leg was sprained after it got knocked over during the night. zayne quickly got to work to bandaging up the poor mom, managing to get its leg healed and working in no time.

you often just stood by the veterinarian in astonishment, just watching zayne work his magic onto the other livestock. he was probably the only rancher you've seen who never gets plucked at by the chickens, or be head-butted by the goats, or have the horses flinch away from his touch. you've had your fair share of veterinarians at the ranch, but they were never as young and efficient (and honestly, handsome) as he was.

when he wasn't out checking up on the livestock, zayne was moving around bales of hay and heavy equipment. you didn't know why you were surprised that a man as handsome and capable as zayne had a toned body of his own - walking around the ranch with just a oil-stained wife-beater, muddy jeans, and a pair of worn down boots.

zayne was quiet, kept to himself most of the time, and did his job quickly and orderly. he was practically every rancher's wet dream in terms of being responsible. you had to give it to him for being passionate about his work; it was clear as day that your father loved having him out at the field.

safe to say, you had grown a little fond of the stoic doctor, despite his apparent disinterest in you. he only ever spared you hums and nods of acknowledgement whenever you'd assist him, and preferred to reply to you in monosyllabic sentences.

it was hilarious to think that this was literally all you had to gain your silly crush on him - just assisting him whenever he needed it and being at arm's length from him.

still, it was enough for you to have your cheeks flushing whenever you saw him, or stand beside him as he worked. because at least you had something to look forward to when waking up for another grueling day at the field. you've long accepted that he will never realistically be interested in you at all, and that everything between the two of you was to be kept strictly professional.

but if you were being honest with yourself, a tiny bit of hope was still clinging onto the tendrils of your heart - that maybe, maybe he feels the same way as you do.

it was the little things he did; it might as well be a figment of your imagination with how seldom it happens. but you know that his eyes following you from across the barn means something, or that the way his hand guides you out of the way from a fussy horse isn't just a thing he does all the time. you know, deep down in your heart, there's something there.

however, each time it happens, as you lay down on your bed every night, staring up at your ceiling in the dark, you remind yourself once more - everything between the two of you was to be kept strictly professional.

but it was on a friday evening that you and zayne were alone out on the field. the little bonfire he made crackled and popped, mixing in with the sounds of the quiet night at the countryside. you walked out of the house with candied fruits and iced tea, a small reward for the hard work done for the day. zayne accepted the fruit enthusiastically - he seemed to have a sweet tooth.

"any plans for the weekend, dr. zayne?" you asked. zayne shook his head and sipped on his iced tea.

"no - i'd rather be here." he replied.

"ah..." you nodded, a little embarrassed at how quickly he shot down your attempt in small talk. "...well, me too. the bar down town's a little grungy, anyway." you said, a feeble crack at filling up the silence between the both of you.

zayne hummed and nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "i'd rather be here with you."

the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you tried to process his words, his voice, his everything. you turned to him, unsure of what to say - what to do, "wh- what?"

zayne, to your horror, looked completely serious. what a bad time to remember that he rarely ever joked around, especially with you. "i like your company, y/n." he said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "i'd rather stay here in the quiet with you after a long day of work than to go anywhere else for the weekend."

your heartbeat quickening, you tried to think of something to say, something smart or witty to reply to his sudden confession. but you were helplessly blanking out. "o-oh. um... i wasn't expecting you to say that."

zayne cocked his head to the side, still keeping his gaze on you. "what did you expect me to say, y/n?"

you shrug with a singular shoulder, squirming helplessly underneath his gaze. "i dunno - that you're busy. or have to work overnight." literally anything else that doesn't make me hope that i have a chance for you.

"i managed to finish the day's work in record time, and i don't like working outside my work hours." zayne replied matter-of-factly, adjusting the watch on his wrist. "and that's because of your help. you help me maintain my work that i don't see the need to work overtime. at this rate, you must be sick of seeing me."

"what? no, i don't." you replied in shock.

"really?" zayne asked, his lips forming a wide smile this time. "you're by my side almost 24/7 down at the ranch at work. wouldn't you be appalled that i still want to spend my time with you after work?"

you scoffed in disbelief, frazzled by his sudden confessions coming at you from all sides. you avoid his eyes, still intently staring at you, burning holes into your skin at this point. "i'm more surprised that you want to see me all the time." you said softly.

"why, do you want to see me all the time?"

you hadn't noticed that zayne had moved to sit right beside you. you flinched at the warm shoulder that bumped against yours, rendering you breathless as you faced him, your eyes finally meeting his.

no words were exchanged. you hoped your your hammering heartbeat was enough of an answer for him. no words were actually exchanged, as you were too busy leaning in to kiss him while the bonfire slowly burned out into the starry night.

Rafayel liked to show up at the ranch early in the morning. while you were still busy catching up on sleep, he's already working on a few stuff around the barn. you were often not-so-rudely woken up by some drilling and hammering down at the ranch, and more often than not it was because rafayel saw something wrong with the equipment and thought that it needed some quick fixing.

it quickly became part of your routine to cuss him out through your window.

"can't you keep that shit down?! it's ass crack o'clock!" you yelled with your eyes still struggling to open all the way. rafayel paused from hammering at the fence he just fixed and turned to you with one eye closed and a delighted grin.

"sorry that i'm trying to fix the squeaking fence you were complaining about the other day, cutie!" he replied sarcastically, then proceeded to ignore your demands to continue hammering on the wood.

it went on like that as he got around the ranch. you'd complain about how loud he was being, and he'd have a witty quip for you already locked and loaded. you did your best to have as little interaction with him at the ranch as possible, but with how often your tasks coincided with his, it was almost impossible not to run into him.

he always had that exasperating, devastatingly handsome smile on his face whenever you cross paths at the ranch. with your eyes downcast, you always tried to pretend you hadn't even noticed him, doing something on your phone or checking if you'd stepped on something as he passed by you. you'd let out a sigh of relief as he just leaves without saying anything else to you, but you don't miss the cheeky laugh that trails after you.

"honestly cutie, you're like, my favorite co-worker." rafayel declared after hauling the trash out on the back. you scoffed at his words, appalled that he'd even say that out loud. "i'm the only lunatic who's crazy enough to work the same shifts as you." you replied.

"exactly. great minds think alike, no?" rafayel winked at you, lurching your heart to your throat in surprise.

"you're a dumbass."

your father quickly got rafayel to do horseback riding lessons for visitors and tourists at the ranch - he was young and had a boyish charm to him that hollywood liked to give cowboys in their movies. children loved the friendly cowboy with the winning smile, who has a steady hand over their backs and another on the horse's reins.

but he was especially a hit with the women, who bat their eyelashes at the cowboy and squirm in delight when he tells them to hold onto the reins tighter with a firm voice. either rafayel was clueless to their blatant flirting, or he just didn't care. the amount of filth these women had spewing out their mouths was honestly laughable.

and you don't blame them at all. rafayel was indeed gorgeous, despite how infuriating he was to talk to most of the time. but you don't go around telling that kind of information to anybody else; he'd have a field day if he finds out that his "favorite co-worker" thought he had pretty eyes and soft hair that she'd like to touch.

nothing ever really comes out of the flirting, though. unlike the average cowboy, rafayel didn't care much about attracting the most amount of admirers. he's always hard at work, like he's got something to prove. he fixes leaking pipes, screws and unscrews things, and can paint murals on the back of barns like nothing. he has his eyes set on something else, it seemed.

"cutie! wait up!"

just as you were about to climb up into your truck, rafayel caught up with you. he was sweating all over, his clothes stained with oil and mud, and a part of his cheek covered in streaks of mud. he furiously wiped away the dirt on his face with a damp towel as he approached you. despite all the grime that covered him, he still managed to smell like expensive perfume.

"you stink, rafayel." you said despite that, moving away from him. rafayel gave you a little shrug and swept a hand through his hair, slicking it back with his sweat.

"some twin boys almost fell off a horse. somebody had to hold them away from the mud." he replied. he pointed to your truck with his thumb, grinning widely. "can i drive us to dinner?"

you raised an eyebrow at him, suspicious of his motives, to which he pouted and pulled out his ridiculous puppy-dog face at you. "please, y/n? i want that steak you told me to get last time i went with your dad." he pleaded.

"you want to go get steak without your boss?" you asked with a humorless laugh, turning away from him to open the door the driver's seat. "you asking me out on a date, rafayel?"

"duh." rafayel said, leaning on your truck with one arm against the side. he held out on hand and began listing down things with his fingers, "i'll pay for our meal, i'll be the best gentleman, and i'll take you home back home before 10. promise!"

you blanched at his insistence - you were truly only joking with him about the date, but whatever he's offering sounded really good. this was one of the many times he's tried to take you out somewhere, and you've only ever brushed him off every time he did so.

you glanced at rafayel's face, whose smile grew wider the more the silence stretched on. he leaned in closer, giving you a closer look at his handsome smile. you felt your resolve slowly crack away; you truly couldn't stand this cowboy...

"if you stop touching my radio, we'll get steak." you deadpanned.

"i'll skip only one song, cutie. just one, then i'll never judge your music taste again." rafayel bargained with his hands clasping together. you rolled your eyes at his ridiculousness, then tilted your head to your truck, signaling him to get in.

rafayel cheered as he quickly climbed up the driver's seat. you walked around to get to the front seat, shivering at the cold air gusting from the air-conditioning. rafayel slumped back into his seat, relieved to be away from the heat of the afternoon sun.

"your truck's soooo nice, y/n." he groaned in satisfaction, "you've got functioning air-conditioning, soft cushions, little to no scratches on the truck. you're a wonderful driver."

you snorted as you grabbed your box of CDs, looking through your selection. "if you actually know how to take care of your truck, you wouldn't be complimenting it like this." you said.

"but how else am i going to have a chance to be this close to you, cutie?" rafayel teased, sitting up straight this time and turning the truck on. dumbstruck at his response, you turned to him with your mouth agape. "are you dumb?" you asked.

rafayel shook his head. "nope, just think you're pretty."

you choked on a gasp. "rafayel!"

he laughed out loud as he put the truck in drive. "what?" he asked, pretending to look innocent.

you scoffed, "you're ridiculous."

"you like it."

you didn't respond, afraid that you'll say that you do.

taglist 𓂃۶ৎ jus tagging random users <3 hope u enjoy!!!

@berrryparfait @lioria @babypetri @hyunlixwife @zuhaeri @c9tnoos @sylusbigapples @dollyswishingwell @sixeyedgodswife @celestialforce @syxlx @dana-nite @lacejinnie @thearynn @feralkuromi @destinysrequiem @thesrtuggleisveryreal @orange-stars @mocha-the-muse @usertala @kpop-and-otome @serendididy @zephilyr @ywnzn @a-jynx @elitheidiot1 @almondtofuus @goldenroses @esspeon @froleineeeee

[tadporridge]

some little hcs for hearthian parenting :] in dot points because i am sleepy. happy to elaborate on anything if need be! cw some kinda weird specbio stuff

it is not at all defined by blood/biology. genetic links are 100% recorded for health reasons, but they do not determine social relationships. this doesn't mean it's impossible for someone's biological offspring to be their quote-unquote hatchling! just that this is either pure luck or some sort of Circumstance™ and has nothing to do with who made them (ie, in the case of my hatchling bes and gossan, it was a case of them comes out-of-season following a pretty rough period, meaning that the bio-social role of Caretaker went to whoever had most recently had eggs at the time. ie gossan)

on the topic of caretakers! young tadpoles (the first 5 or so years of their life) are looked after by specialised members of the community who will groom and feed them (having the anatomy and instinct allowing them to do these things—since young babies rely on crop-milk for a bit, like pigeons. lala i love pigeons please don't be weird about this). think of it like sex-changing in some fish species. a lack of a certain "role" will lead to certian individuals undergoing certain changes, thoufh in the case of hearthians these are generally temporary and change with hormonal fluctuations etc.

a "parent", then, is less of a caretaker and something in between a teacher and mentor figure. a hatchling will imprint onto an adult or group of adults and learn from them, which includes eating with them, sleeping with them, and generally forming a close bond. it's much less strict than a nomai parenting bond, and contains both less and more work, in a way, since the care of young tadpoles is up to village caretakers and the teaching of skills is up to what i call "parents". which may not even be the best term but it sounds cute

solanum, in my au, does understand this. however due to her nature as a nomai, who have much stricter and more enclosed familial ties, she sort of latches onto one parental figure to feel secure. this is gossan, naturally having been (semi begrudgingly LMAO) babysitting duty. she's their hatchling, technically, since they train her, though they haven't the foggiest what she thinks of them as. they have w couple chats, work something out, and they agree to ... whatever it is. the thing it's some sort of job title. it sort of is.

[destinysbounty]

On the topic of mergeswap AUs, most of the ninja could be shuffled around to different Merge scenarios with equally compelling results, but I maintain that by far the most *interesting* swap would be Lloyd-Zane. That is to say, Lloyd gets put in the coma pod while Zane is left alone in the monastery.

Out of all the post-Merge scenarios, I think Lloyd would most severely be fucked up by completely sleeping through it - he wakes up to find that not only is the world different, but his friends have spent *years* struggling to survive without his help. He's supposed to be their leader, their guide, the chosen savior of prophecy. It's his job to look out for them, isn't it? But he wasn't there. The world fell apart, his team is in shambles, and everyone has suffered innumerable traumas as a result...and he wasn't there for any of it. Knowing Lloyd, the self-imposed guilt would absolutely eat him alive. Also, once again he is chronologically displaced - before it was the age of his mind and body being mismatched, and now he is once again missing several years of his life.

(Also I think it's funny if we put Lloyd in Zane's pod specifically, especially if he's still the Conduit. Because that means he woke up, immediately jumped into the fight against Imperium, and then like 10 minutes later volunteered to take on life-changing god powers from some random talking dragon. All without any context for anything that is going on whatsoever.)

As for Zane...god, where do I even start.

So, putting Zane in the monastery is fascinating for a number of reasons.

Out of everyone on the team, the ones who consistently cope with isolation the worst are Cole and Zane. That's not to say the others enjoy it, per se, but they're all at least able to lock in and get shit done as needed, trauma be damned. But Cole is very community-oriented and comes a bit unglued in the absence of a community to rely on (DotD, s10), and Zane...oh boy.

Zane is usually the one to die, so he is rarely put in a position of grieving the others. His only instances of mourning the absenceof a loved one are:

His father, which happened off-screen so we don't know how he handled that initially (he seems to be okay in s3, but knowing Zane he probably just repressed the feeling and moved on)

Nya in Seabound, which he was so ill-equipped to deal with that he turned off his emotions entirely

Pixal in DR, where he was so unable to handle her absence that he straight up stapled a photo of her to a broom and started talking to it. Also with Kai getting lost in superhell, which we don't really see him grieving over but also we don't see much of that from anyone so uhhh I'm choosing to ignore that for now.

Picture it. Zane, alone in the monastery, with none of his friends around and no way of knowing what happened to them. All he can do is sit and hold vigil in the hopes that they will eventually come back (something something Echo Zane lighthouse parallels). I'm not saying Zane would start taping his friends' photos to random appliances by the end of week 1 and cry over his tenth ice sculpture of Pix by week 2, but uhhhh....actually no that's exactly what I'm saying. Provided he doesn't miraculously find a way to get himself killed while chilling in the monastery, I give him like 6 months before his sanity completely unravels.

Another reason for swapping Zane into Lloyd's spot is that whoever is in the monastery at the start of DR also gets to be the mentor to the new ninja. And that puts Zane in a *very* interesting position.

Zane is, on both a meta and narrative level, a support character. He's your medic, your backup, your HQ, and he can even be your damsel in distress. He's not really a leader by nature, and it is rare for him to take charge or assume a position of authority unless the situation demands it of him. He's generally content to sit back and let everyone else take charge - he let Cole take the lead during the prison break in s4, he's one of the only ones not to express pushback when Lloyd officially becomes the leader, etc.

It's actually a bit odd how rare it is for him to lead, bc it feels like everyone else has way more instances of flexing their leadership skills. Off the top of my head, i can think of exactly three occasions where Zane assumes a position of authority:

For about 10 mins in s5, which ends in him glitching out and talking backwards

In s14 when he became Captain Zane, but that was mostly for comedic effect, and authority goes back to Lloyd and Nya once the situation actually gets serious

In s11 when he became Ice Emperor, but he had to be magically corrupted, mind-wiped, AND gaslit in order for that to even happen.

(You could argue he took charge during the Snake Jaguar incident, but he didn’t take charge of the whole team and also it didn't end well.)

All this to say, Zane doesn't have a positive track record with being in charge. Probably even worse, now that he has all that Ice Emperor baggage to deal with.

So what do you do with a character like that? Naturally, you give him a gaggle of wide-eyed children to look after and tell him to teach them how to be ninja. Lloyd was already hesitant to be their master in canon, but Zane would be even worse.

Furthermore, Zane, uh...doesn't really have many friends outside of the ninja (aside from his falcon, who hasnt existed in the show for years). Cole has the Upply and the Finders, Nya is close to Ronin and became good friends with Bentho, Kai has Skylor and Wyldfyre, Lloyd had the resistance and Akita and now the next-gen kids, Jay started an entire cult in Prime Empire and also seems to be on good terms with Unagami, and even Wu is close to Faith...but who does Zane have outside of the team? Vex, maybe? Possibly Borg, even though that relationship isn't explored onscreen? Sally, who gets one whole episode spotlighting her and Zane before vanishing into obscurity?

This even continues in DR, too. Theres a new cast of characters to befriend and connect with, many of whom share a lot in common with Zane, but he doesn't really interact at length with anyone but his old friends and Frohickey.

True, a lot of that can be blamed on Zane's gradual narrative dehumanization depriving him of meaningful personal connections, but in-universe you could also attribute that to his self worth. Zane is so wrapped up in his belief that he exists to serve and protect, and he is so strongly devoted to the ninja that he can be a bit one-track-minded about it. He loves his family so much that he doesn't have time to care for anyone else in the same way. They are his world, his everything, his life's purpose...without them, he is nothing. Can you say "codependent"?

But now, he's alone in the monastery. He doesn't know if his friends are alive. All he can do is sit and pray and hope they come back to him. And after years of waiting, he crosses paths not with his family, but with two new kids. They want him to teach them to be ninja. But Zane is too afraid - afraid of leaving his post, afraid that being in charge will bring out his inner Ice Emperor...afraid of betraying his family by finding a new one.

He does agree to help them in the end, if only because he exists to protect and they need protection. But the whole time, he is afraid, and anxious, and painfully unsure of himself. But just as he teaches them how to be strong, how to fight, how to be brave and kind and selfless...they teach him how to believe in himself. How to reclaim his sense of identity. How to stand on his own without his friends, and how to make new ones. How to live for his loved ones, rather than dying for them.

(And yeah, okay, a small part of it this is definitely spite for the way he's been unilaterally snubbed by DR canon. I won't deny that)

Personally, if I were to write a mergeswap AU that's probably the direction I'd take. But then again, I might just be on some next-level copium and desperately trying to make Zane actually relevant to DR in some meager way

[cogaytes]

bitterly divorced fintante professor overshare and professor brick wall au...

in which foxfire university medieval history and literature professor bronte infligens (placeholder last name unless it grows on me) shares absolutely nothing with his students about his personal life, chemical engineering professor fintan pyren can't stop bringing up his bitchass ex husband in class, and sophie foster is a transfer psychology student just trying to get enough general education credits to graduate and quite possibly the first ever person to take class with them both.

featuring:

psych major sophie with psych advisor tiergan

meche major dex as sophie's lab partner in fintan's class

english literature major keefe (dad wouldn't pay for art school)

neuroscience (cognitive science) major fitz on the premed track #futureneurosurgeon #vackers are all famous doctors. takes a lot of psych classes with sophie

polisci major biana (prelaw)

enviro science linh

physics tam

journalism marella

background tiertice (prentice is a former psych professor now working in admin) and quantum physics phd student wylie

faculty deans grady (evolutionary bio) and edaline (biochem) who teach at the grad school

you have my permission to make recursive works based on this concept (with all the caveats in my permission statement)

also while you're here my permission statement has all my kotlc fics linked...if you like tiertice, bronte, or elwin you may enjoy one of my other aus <3

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Oooh I'm so glad folks are engaging with this post because it's stuff I've been thinking about for a while!

I think it's clear that magic will continue to play a role in any further stories in the Arcane universe, now that it's been "woken up" in the course of the events of the show. Whether Hextech itself continues to exist...I'm not sure. I tend to think that the arcane was never going to successfully industrialized in the way the Hexgates work--forcing magic to do one ordered, repetitive task over and over and over again. Something like the anomaly was always going to occur, because the order of the Hexgates has to be balanced out with chaos generated somewhere else within the system. But there are lots of other ways of using magic in Runeterra so I could see the Hextech crystals and gemstones being used in other ways.

I would argue that it's not the case that Jayce and Viktor are the only people capable of understanding Hextech. They're certainly the experts, but Jinx is able to construct working Hextech devices with one gemstone and a notebook. When given some time to mess around, Ekko and AU Powder invent time travel. Yes, they have Heimerdinger's mentorship, but he seems not to know this is even possible in advance. So I think the Council keeping a lock on Hextech is not just about controlling Jayce and Viktor's labor power as scientists (although it is that) but also about preventing the proliferation of Hextech in ways they can't control. Because if anyone can build or use or reverse-engineer a Hextech device then that's a formidable source of power that the Council no longer has a monopoly on.

@kettleninth I am also gonna pull out some ideas from your first set of tags cause there's some really interesting stuff in there.

(1) The Kirammans having a monopoly on the hexcrystals/gemstones is a really interesting idea because I've had the idea for a while that at least part of their wealth comes from mining. (Vi being the daughter of miners and Caitlyn being the daughter of mine owners just seems very juicy and like it fits well thematically.) If this were true then it would make sense that they would have the means to both extract and refine the crystals, and that they either found them through their own companies' prospecting, or that Jayce convinced Cassandra it was academically useful for him to go along on a Kiramman prospecting expedition where he thought the crystals might be found.

I initially had a whole tangent about the Kiramman-funded ventilation system but I decided it really needs its own post. Tl;dr I see it as kind of in the same vein as, like, wealthy social reformers of the Industrial Revolution era who invested in public health measures because they'd had the revelation that maybe their entire workforce dying before thirty was not gonna be sustainable. There's a mix of noblesse oblige and self-interest at work. They have an interest in conditions in the fissures because that's where their workers live, and possibly because their own enterprises are contributing to the pollution.

(2) Houses being corporations makes a lot of sense too. This is basically how the ultra-rich operate now, creating trusts, investment vehicles, holding companies etc. to manage inherited family wealth (and avoid taxes). I have also thought that in a society that has inherited family wealth but also seems relatively chill about same-sex relationships, there must be some structure to formally and indisputably designate heirs who are not your biological children, and if bringing someone into your House is seen as more of a business relationship, that could fill that role.

(3) The idea that the Council has possibly carved out a legal exception just for the Hexgates because they benefit Piltover's ruling class, and that other forms of Hextech are not automatically legal...yeah that feels very on brand and interesting to explore.

who decides the future of hextech?

Hot take: I don't think Hextech functions like a scrappy tech startup at all. I know the Arcane writers have made this comparison themselves, but it doesn't really track with what we see in the show.

It's made pretty clear that Jayce and Viktor have at best limited control over what direction Hextech goes in. In a city that's hostile to and suspicious of magic, they need the continued goodwill of the Council, and the wealthy families who sit on the Council, for their work to continue to exist at all. And that shapes how Hextech develops.

For the first 6-10 years of its existence (however long you think the S1 timeskip is), Hextech consists of one (1) project: the Hexgates. A major piece of international transit infrastructure, utilizing a brand-new technology that no one knew was even possible a few years earlier, and requiring a massive financial outlay for construction years before seeing any profits. Frankly, taking that from the very first shaky proof of concept to a fully functioning piece of infrastructure in less than 10 years is astonishing. This isn't like inventing Facebook; this is equivalent to creating the internet itself.

An infrastructure project on the scale of the Hexgates could be entirely state-funded (and therefore state-controlled, answering to the Council). But from the dialogue and visual storytelling, I think it's reasonable to infer that Hextech functions more like a public-private partnership.

In the modern era, PPPs have come to be associated with privatization and neoliberal capitalism. But funding infrastructure development this way was common in the 19th century too, closer to the time period from which Arcane draws its steampunk-ish inspiration.

So who's picking up the tab? I think it's some combination of government funding from the Council and private funding from Mel Medarda and the Kirammans.

We see one other Kiramman-funded infrastructure project in the show: the Undercity ventilation system.

And, as we see in that case, what may seem like a purely benevolent investment for the good of the city as a whole comes with a very high potential for control. (And where do the Hexgate plans end up at the end of the show? In the Kiramman family vault, accessible only with the Kiramman key.)

The Kiramman family crest is all over Hextech at Progress Day. It's prominent on the stage when Jayce speaks, positioned as equal to his own House.

Cassandra Kiramman introduces Jayce's speech, and Jayce gets trotted around the Kiramman family tent like a show pony beforehand.

The Kiramman crest is also on the box containing the hexgems, which makes me suspect that the facility needed to process the gemstones is either owned or financed by the Kirammans.

Mel's influence is more subtle. There's no Medarda crest on anything associated with Hextech; once you learn a bit about Mel's relationship with her family, that is not surprising. But clearly Mel feels comfortable speaking to other investors on behalf of Hextech, without feeling the need to run it by Jayce or Viktor first.

I think this exchange implies that (1) getting additional, outside investors is something new that they haven't done to finance earlier rounds of Hextech development, and (2) Mel is planning ahead in case the Council doesn't like the direction Hextech is going next and they need to secure additional funding.

I wouldn't be surprised if Mel was the one who steered them toward shipping and long-distance trade as a marketable use for Hextech in the first place, something many of the councillors seem to have an economic stake in.

Throughout this whole scene with Jayce and Mel, the Hexgate model sitting on her desk is very prominent. It's the first thing we see in the scene; the color and lighting make it stand out; and it appears in the frame in multiple shots. It's the thing that's always there between them.

Mel and Cassandra Kiramman are also councilors, and along with Heimerdinger they are Hextech's main allies on the Council--3 out of 7. Jayce and Viktor really can't afford to piss off any of them...which gets complicated when they want opposite things.

At the time of Progress Day, Hextech is at a turning point.

This conversation implies that they have not had a lot of freedom to develop and build whatever they wanted in the years during the timeskip. It's an interesting reversal of the dynamic we saw from them in 1.02 and 1.03. This time Jayce is the one forging ahead, confident they can get what they want, while Viktor is the one pointing out obstacles. (This is also the first time we see Viktor's face post-timeskip and register how much sicker he's become, which...oof.)

Regardless of how much they talk about "bringing magic to the people," I think it's notable that both their little spiels focus on how these inventions would increase worker productivity. This is a presentation designed for people who are thinking about their bottom line. And they seem to expect that any new developments with Hextech will have to be given Council approval before they can proceed.

(I think all of this puts the Hexcore in a slightly different light, too. It's quite possibly the first Hextech device since Jayce's original prototype that they've built without thinking about the pitch meeting. It's not a single-purpose object with an immediate, obvious use. In the beginning, it seems to recapture some of that original sense of wonder and discovery. And Viktor built it. I can see how he would be protective of his creation even before things Got Weird with it.)

And then, of course, everything goes off the rails. The gemstone gets stolen; Jayce gets pulled onto the Council. And after that point, every new Hextech object that Jayce makes is a weapon.

Jayce and Viktor's arc can be read as a story about the hubris of scientists thinking they can control forces they don't understand and anticipate every possible consequence, or a story about their naivete in thinking they could keep their research somehow above politics in a world full of conflict. And it's not not about those things. But it can also be read as a story about how discovery, creativity, and people's natural altruistic impulses get constrained by capitalism, and how often innovation is only valued if it can be made to serve war or profit.

(As for who controls the future of Hextech after the end of the show? With Viktor, Jayce, Mel and Heimerdinger all gone from Piltover...Caitlyn, probably. A detail I would love to see someone use in a fic.)

[kates-dump]

BUZZ!!!

So, in spite of sounding completely deranged to both Murder Drones fans AND entomologists, I present a theory/headcanon/"this would be a really cool au" that has definitely been brought up before!

THE "DRONES ARE BEES" (yet-to-be) ESSAY

So let's start with the obvious!

Bees are separated by their role in the colony. So there's a Queen, the Workers (infertile females), and Drones (all male). Worker bees are the ones responsible for collecting nectar, protecting their hive and producing honey, whereas the males' only purpose is to mate with the Queen. Considering just how useless the male Worker Drones are in the show it's honestly pretty fitting /j

Although there aren't that many parallels between Worker Drones and Bees, there are a lot of connections to be made about Drones as a whole and the Hymenoptera order!

Fooor example, the fact that Hornets will attack, kill, and sometimes eat Honey Bees when they are vulnerable outside or near their hive! Most of the time, Hornets will attack hives to steal honey, and are notoriously known for their powerful mandibles, painful stingers and potent venom. Sound familiar? Well, duh, Disassembly Drones.

(Not to mention that Asian Giant Hornets are also called... Murder Hornets.)

"Kate you can't just make name comparisons, say they're both black and yellow and call it a day!" Well first of all, yes I can, second of all, I have SOMETHING ELSE!

APOCEPHALUS BOREALIS!!!

A TYPE OF PARASITOID FLY THAT HAS BEEN KNOWN TO ATTACK BOTH BEES AND WASPS AND MAKE THEM QUITE LITERALLY INTO ZOMBIES! ZOMBEES! SORRY FOR YELLING!!! BUT THIS IS LIKE THE ABSOLUTESOLVER!!!

Now. Where am I going with this? Well, fun fact. Since most (if not all) bees attacked by Hornets are stingless, what they will do to defend themselves instead is usually sacrifice a bee to acknowledge the Hornet's intentions, then swarm it and begin to vibrate their bodies intensely to generate heat. The point inside the ball can reach up to 47°C, literally cooking the Hornet alive! Ouch!

We know Disassembly Drones can die from heat (but apparently not direct boiling hot radiation from the sun?!), so what I'm saying is that, at least once, those Workers should've tried making their own group hug of death to defend themselves 🐝

that's all for now, thanks for listening to my ramblings!

(hey, pssst. check out my commissions!)

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Older Favorites 11

This week, we have nine fics that are a little older. If you're newer to the fandom, maybe you've missed them. Or maybe you read these as they were being published, and it's time to revisit! In either case, check them out beneath the cut, and as always, don't forget to comment and kudos!

Attraction is just another form of gravity by Three Gremlins in a trenchcoat (201000, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Secret lovers overlayed with canon storyline (to a point of divergence)

Reccer says: This was THE fic that for me into SG FF. Read it once for the plot, read it a second time for the crafting. There’s an entire storyline made out of each chapter’s opening section. Heavy BDSM but it’s almost secondary to how well the plot is laid out vs canon.

I’ve been lost before by Toneofjoy (165000, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Climbing AU coach/student

Reccer says: Amazing writing, one of the best out there.

Two Roads Diverged by InkDippedFeathers (90000, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Concubine AU, Essek in over his head

Reccer says: Great writing and world building, leads into other stories and series

we learn to live with the pain, mosaic hearts broken by vagabondfirelily (5777, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: The aftermath of something (not clarified or mattering) is omnipresent

In which Essek is injured, and both he and Caleb need to learn to recover.

Reccer says: It’s a very realistic depiction of how being hurt affects the ones around you as well, and how both parties feel guilty for feeling pain.

heir to the devil's fortune by essektheylyss (divinationwizard) (348340, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: panic attacks, body dysmorphia, child abuse, dismemeberment

Essek uses the Transmogrification spell to disappear, and finds a tentative home in hiding as the long lost son of the Ruby of the Sea.

Reccer says: There's a mystery, intrigue, and Marion Lavorre. What's not to love?

the breath before the phrase by Kmac Katie (171000, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Classical music modern au

Reccer says: I have no interest in classical music at all, but I read this a couple of times per year, it’s so good

Whistle song by Chekhov (115000, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Kid fic - the kids are wannabe assassins

Reccer says: Fun story, good writing, keeps you engaged and guessing

till human voices wake us by mousecookie (66080, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

The one where Caleb is a Mermaid (and Essek is still a traitor)

Reccer says: The way this AU plays with canon and characterization is so good, I love it. Also, some amazing illustrations by Saturdaysky!

the edge of the blade by jaskofalltrades (56205, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Deirta wants Essek to get married, so he claims he's already wed - to Caleb

Reccer says: I'm a sucker for fake marriages, but there's also political machinations in here, and so much great pining!

Want to check out other older favorites? Check out our past older favorite reclists here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring Near-Death Dangers! Nothing like a good almost miss to bring wizards together.

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[russeliarat]

Linked Universe Artist Recs

To bide time while I try to figure out some fic recs for LU, have a couple of my favourite Linked Universe artists and go check em out!! I might onto the post later too!

@off-mozzarella

A Linked Universe artist who's sketches always seem so delicate and fully-rendered, no matter how rendered they really are. There's a delicate softness to the artwork that portrays a calmness both in moments of peace and moments that require peace despite hiding storms. The posing is so elegant and easy to understand the actions despite not seeing the actions in motion, and the character interactions they draw give a sense of genuinity and heart. Their Body Swap AU between Legend and Hyrule is an interesting concept and serves to strengthen the bond between the two while forcing them to open up in an entertaining way.

@raycatzdraws

I also follow their main blog which is where I often get to see others art through their reblogs. They do a lot of fanart for other AUs such as the Necromancer AU and the Magical Girl AU. Her artwork manages to keep a softness to it that permeates even in the art for darker AUs through dulled pastel colours, though often her art features a range of bright sunny colours that just irradiates positivity. There have been several times where I, as an older fan of LU dating back to late 2021/early 2022, have squealed in joy from finding them taking inspiration from or drawing AUs of artists I haven't seen in a while. She's also created a very popular Four meme which I consistently use on the daily to my partner. They keep my nostalgia for earlier times of the LU fandom at bay through their artwork.

@veryloudgroan

The artwork veryloudgroan produces feels like oil paintings or chalk art with its texture and vibrancy. The way they manage to weave so many colours into her artwork while keeping it all harmonious is something I honestly want to study. The atmosphere she's able to produce through the art is magnificent and I personally love the art they do of Legend and Linkle, though I love being able to compare the general portraits they do of each of the LU boys. Her lighthearted jokey art is always so silly in the best way possible and sometimes it's animated and/or fully rendered.

@wishyoudwell

Their artwork reminds me a ton of old shoujo manga I read as a kid and it feels so comforting as an adult hyperfixating on something that's not shoujo. Often they'll draw Four and Legend (who I'm personally biased towards as my favourites), and especially the Colours. The outfit design and character interactions very often leave me inspired to draw more and even their more meme-y artwork feels like its got a lot of effort put into it. The colours they choose and their shading is rich and vibrant and suits the drawings perfectly, especially when a lot of their drawings are simple character interactions, lighthearted jokes, and fun doodles. They also like to ramble about Four a lot which, as a Four fan, I am very happy about.

@inumbrapugnabimbus-maybe

A unique artstyle that feels very nostalgic to me, almost akin to the Rainbow Magic fairy books I grew up with as a little girl. There's such a whimsical charm to the art that feels light on its feet with so much colour and charm. Little flourishes in the art give it so much character and have so much thought put behind it. I personally love the weight she manages to put in the clothing and hair while also somehow making the characters seem to float on their feet. Often she'll post colour studies that absolutely enrapture me and I will just sit there looking at all the ways she use colours in her artworks.

@nell0-0

Both a Linked Universe and Legend of Zelda artist. Their linework, expressions, and poses carry so much character and the character interactions they portray are so poignant and well-expressed. Their personal designs also carry so much silent story-telling and have a unique twist that makes them so interesting to look at. Their shape language in the designs are exquisite.

@theegh0st

When they draw the Chain, it feels like they draw it with a love for all the stupid and heartfelt shit they do. They draw the Chain all so differently to each other and it makes them feel alive and like different people. There's such a variety in how they draw them. Their sketches have a loose and free feeling and are very easy to understand the nuances of emotions they're trying to portray. I especially love the portraits they do of the Chain. You should consider getting some of their LU keychains too, they're very beautiful and seem incredibly high quality.

[kings-highway]

Impulsively wrote this middle school friendship AU intro for Ushiten. It would follow a week of them working on a school project together and probably be mostly canon compliant with the change of them meeting in middle school. Theyd play volleyball eventually and maybe Id extend it long enough to see the high school days its unclear. It would include both artist Ushijima and mega anime nerd Tendou and also tw for suicidal thoughts and feelings but no attempts just two deeply, deeply depressed 13 year olds finally meeting someone who gets them. Also Ushijima would have a stammer and an amount of autism that might be lethal before he had any decent self regulation. It would be the return of Adopted Tendou and probably a few other things. Anyway why am I telling you this? Because I have a habit of impulse writing the first 1000 words of something and then forgetting about it so instead I've given it to you. So like. Maybe all this will be nothing idk.

---

It was 9:08 on a Thursday morning when Tendou Satori decided to kill himself.

And then at 11:13 that very same Thursday morning, he’s forced to delay his decision due to a school assigned group project.

Now, normally Tendou would not be so altruistic as to care about whether or not he pulled his weight in a group project or left people hanging. No, the reason why this is an imposition at all is because of how he ends up assigned to a group project. He’s not paired up with the girl he sits beside as she rolls her eyes, they don’t draw straws or count numbers. No, they’re told that everyone can pick a partner to work with for this particular assignment, and then they have to make and colour project board on - you guessed it - a type of animal to then present to the class on.

Tendou, at first, is actually thrilled with this. He simply won’t partner up, and then he’ll be dead, and it will be okay. But when the class is wrapping up and everyone is getting ready for lunch, the teacher is suddenly whistling for him and waving him over like a scheming villain.

He’s not even sure he’s the one she wants at first. He frowns, glancing around and watching the other kids file out of the class, and then looking back to her. She waves him over again.

Her name is Kobayashi, and she’s… fine. Middle school biology is generally just fine.

He stands in front of her, wondering if he’s done something wrong.

“Hey, Satori,” she says, like she’s about to ask for all his gold. “I have a… huge favour to ask you. You don’t have a partner in mind for the animal project, do you?”

He shakes his head.

“Great, good, okay. So… do you think you could do me the favour of asking Wakatoshi to be your partner?”

Tendou frowns, glancing behind him to where the other kid usually sat, but he had already left the class.

“Uh… why?”

She seems to hesitate on this answer for a second, before eventually saying: “Well, it’s just that… you know he doesn’t really talk much, and has a really hard time making friends. And usually I help out by introducing him to someone, but I think he’s begun to notice that nobody ever approaches him on their own, and…”

Tendou stares at her for a moment, then glances behind him and scans over the occupied seats in the class to identify and even number of students. So an even amount of pairs.

We’re probably leftovers, he decides. There’s probably something wrong with this kid the way there’s something wrong with him, and she wanted them stuck together to avoid contaminating the other kids.

“Okay,” he says, because what does it matter to him?

“Oh, you’re the best, thank you,” Kobayashi says, clasping her hands together for a moment before adding: “Okay, I won’t take any more of your time. Go enjoy your lunch.”

Tendou nods slightly, and figures he should probably go find this kid to set up their collaboration. And it’s about then, (11:13) that he realizes if he asks to partner with someone, and then kills himself, that would be super inconsiderate and lame. So he decides he’ll wait until after they present.

But he heads down to the school cafeteria and starts scanning the available seats. It’s interesting that there’s apparently another social loser like him in his very class, and he’d never noticed. He’s fairly certain he can recognize the kid by face, but it still takes him a moment of intensely scanning before he notices him. He’s not exactly sitting alone, which is what surprises him. It looks like the kid is surrounded by friends.

Except for that, as Tendou approaches, he realizes that while he’s sandwiched in between two very loud groups of friends, he’s not actually engaging in either circle, and is instead sitting with his head down, peeling an orange so carefully he’s kept the peel all in one piece.

Tendou has to fight through crowds, then, to get to the other side and worm into the seat across from him and between those two groups. He doesn’t look up.

Tendou clears his throat.

He still doesn’t look up.

So he reached forward, knocking his knuckles against the table to get his attention. This makes him jump, and he looks up in alarm, as if shocked someone had snuck up on him despite being locked in on that orange like it owed him a life debt.

Tendou immediately regrets the rude way of getting his attention, realizing he probably seemed like an asshole, and withdrew his hand quickly to sit on it.

“Uh, hey,” he says. “Ushijima, right?”

He gets a single nod back. Well, Kobayashi had said he was quiet. Tendou wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak, actually.

“Well, I’m Tendou - we’re in class together-”

Ushijima is nodding, indicating he does recognize him.

“-uh, and we’ve got that stupid animal project coming up, and I don’t have a partner yet, so I was wondering if you wanted to, like, I dunno, do that together or whatever.”

Ushijima looks at him for long enough that Tendou is beginning to get concerned that he didn’t actually speak any Japanese, and then eventually the blank look turns to a frown.

What, did I offend him? Why is he looking at me like that?

“I mean, unless you already have a partner,” Tendou starts. Ushijima continues to stare at him. “Do… uh… sorry… What's happening? You can say no, dude, that’s fine, I just-”

After a second, Ushijima glances around, as if psyching himself up, before lean towards Tendou and very carefully saying:

“Okay.”

Tendou leans towards him at the same time. “Okay as in… partners?”

Ushijima nods, and then looks back down to his orange. Tendou is fairly certain that that’s the end of the conversation and this project is going to be the most boring partnership on the planet when Ushijima splits the orange in half, and offers half over to him.

“What? Why?” Tendou says, not quite able to stop his tone from coming out distrustfully.

Ushijima doesn’t seem to notice, and instead answers the question:

“You do not have lunch with you.”

It’s not a question of ‘are you hungry’ or ‘did you eat’ or ‘would you like half of this orange I’m holding,’ but rather Ushijima has now decided that since Tendou does not have any, he was going to put food in front of him.

Tendou feels a very heavy, hard beat in his heart, and reaches forward to take the orange.

“Oh. Thanks.”

[ugotnojamzzz]

Chapter 30

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Masterlist

Chapter 29

—

The service had been beautiful.

Dignified, spared, unflinching—like the man it was for.

No flowers. No weeping mourners. No false gods of comfort. Just clean earth, pressed suits, and silence.

People had stood like statues—shoulders squared, jaws locked. A ring of black coats, guns tucked discreetly beneath wool and solemn faces. The kind of gathering where grief was swallowed whole and remembered later, alone.

When the last spade of dirt struck the coffin, no one lingered.

Except Namjoon.

He remained still at the edge of the grave, jacket flaring slightly in the breeze. The sky above him was ash-grey. The soil at his feet too fresh to belong. Behind him, the woods loomed, tall and watching. A single crow cried overhead, sharp and brief.

“You came,” he spoke without turning. As though he had known he was being watched all along.

Behind him, some distance back, Jungkook stood among the trees—half in shadow, hands in the pockets of his coat.

He stepped forward slowly.

“I wasn’t going to,” Jungkook answered, voice roughened by the wind.

Namjoon gave the smallest nod, more to the wind than to him. “It doesn’t matter what changed your mind. I’m glad you did.”

They stood like that—two dark silhouettes against the broken earth. The grave between them like a scar they both carried.

Namjoon’s eyes dropped to Jungkook’s hand.

“You finally went to the infirmary.”

Jungkook didn’t answer. Just shifted his weight slightly, tucking the hand deeper into his coat pocket. Not in shame. Not even in avoidance. Just… silence. Letting Namjoon think what he wanted.

The assumption hung there between them like mist. But Jungkook didn’t correct it.

Namjoon didn’t press. Instead, he turned back to the grave. His voice was low. “I know what he was to you.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “I don’t think you do.”

“I do,” Namjoon said. “That’s why I didn’t ask you to speak at the service.”

That surprised him — not the honesty, but the restraint. Namjoon had a way of dragging things into the light. But not today. Today, he was quiet. Careful.

“Good,” Jungkook said at last. “I wouldn’t have.”

Namjoon nodded once. No offense taken. Maybe even a trace of relief.

Another silence.

“He was hard to love,” Namjoon looked down at the grave. “Harder to grieve.”

Jungkook laughed under his breath—dry, brittle. “That’s one way to put it.”

Namjoon finally turned to him fully.

“I’m not going to pretend he was something he wasn’t,” he said. “But he did built all of this.”

“Ah, yes,” Jungkook agreed. “He did love his empire.”

“And now it’s ours.”

The words didn’t fall lightly. They landed like iron.

For a moment, Jungkook said nothing. Just stared. As if tasting the word in his mouth, unsure whether to spit or swallow. His head tilted slightly, just enough to suggest he’d heard—but not enough to accept. His eyes flicked once toward Namjoon, unreadable.

“Ours,” Jungkook echoed, dry. “That’s generous.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “It’s accurate.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

Voice low. Measured. Dangerous.

Namjoon didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not saying it for your benefit. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “You’re the heir. Always were. Everyone knows it. Everything here—“ he gestured, vaguely, at the mansion beyond the trees, the earth underfoot, the grave between them, “has your name carved under the paint.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “And you’ve proven time and time again to be worthy of that name.”

Jungkook scoffed. It wasn’t amusement—it was disbelief. Bitterness. The kind that coated the back of your teeth. “But it’s not my name though, is it? Not really.”

Namjoon sighed. “Maybe he never claimed you,” his voice didn’t waver. “But I do. And it’s all that matters now.”

That silenced them both. Just the wind now. The hush of trees. Dirt still fresh under their boots.

Then Namjoon added, quieter this time:

“He built this empire. But we’re the ones who’ll carry it forward. And I won’t do it without you.”

Jungkook finally looked at him, with the bruised recognition of someone who has long accepted their place in the shadows—only to be called into the light.

Namjoon sighed. “You ready for that?”

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. Just shifted his weight and said, “I’m still here, aren’t I?.”

It was the only truth he could offer.

Namjoon gave the faintest nod. He reached out then—just a hand, slow and unforced—and clasped Jungkook’s shoulder.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t warm.

But it was steady.

“I need you, Jungkook,” Namjoon said. “You’re my brother.”

There was a pause. Long enough for the wind to pass between them. Jungkook looked down, toward Namjoon’s hand on his shoulder, then back at the grave. His throat worked.

Namjoon didn’t let go. “We can mourn later. Right now, we rebuild. Together.”

He let his hand fall away.

Together, they looked down at the grave one last time.

Neither bowed. Neither prayed.

But both stayed just long enough to make it count

Jungkook didn’t hear them until they were close.

Footsteps, light against the gravel. A shadow cast over the grave.

He turned.

Y/N stood a few paces back, Taehyung at her side. The breeze tugged lightly at her sleeves. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, jaw set. She didn’t speak—not at first. She wasn’t looking at the grave.

She was looking at Namjoon.

Like the dead man wasn’t worth her time.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked over her. The set of her shoulders. The way her jaw locked, not in mourning, but in calculation. She hadn’t come to pay respects.

She’d come to see who was left standing.

Namjoon didn’t move, didn’t even look up fully.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, voice low.

“You summoned me,” she replied, cool as glass.

No ceremony. No gratitude. Just fact.

He inclined his head. “There’s work to be done.”

The words were simple, but the weight of them made the air shift.

“The timing is—unfortunate. A change in leadership—” his eyes dropped to the grave, “—creates a vaccuum. It attracts attention. The wrong kind. Some see it as a simple transition. Others may see it as a weakness. An opportunity.”

Taehyung’s shoulders tensed, just slightly. Jungkook remained still, but his eyes had narrowed. Everyone was thinking the same thing. But no one said it.

“Enemies will be watching,” Namjoon continued. “Testing our defenses. Our alliances.”

Y/N’s voice cut through, dry as flint. “Testing you.” Her gaze met Namjoon’s. Sharp. Measured. He didn’t deny it. “They’ll be watching to see if the new King bleeds,” she added, “and how easily.”

A flicker of something crossed Namjoon’s face. “They’ll look for the fault lines. Anywhere to drive the knife in deeper. Even through blood.”

The silence that followed was louder than any scream. Taehyung’s jaw clenched. Namjoon’s shoulders squared. And Jungkook—Jungkook didn’t look away.

He watched her.

Watched the way her throat worked when she swallowed. The way her eyes flicked, just for a second, to the line of trees in the distance. North. Like an unintended compass. Toward the Ravens’ territory.

He found himself wondering whether, when the next blow came, she’d be the one to catch it—or throw it.

And she knew what everyone else thought.

It wasn’t speculation. It was certainty.

The Tigers were vulnerable, and their enemies, whoever they were, were bound to see it.

When she spoke again, her voice didn’t rise. Nor did it falter.

It simply landed.

Low. Cold.

Final.

“They’re going to strike.”

—

—

Chapter 31

Masterlist

Tatatataaaaaa…suspense… stay tuned for the next chapter!!

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

@loumin908

@mageprincess7

@drunkzseok

@kelsyx33

@jjk970901

@sydneygal3107

@icravebooks

@kokoandkookie

@ukndtwme

@jungshaking

@bjoriis

@backshotsforlana

[fishyaudio]

Raz, who's been your favourite design you've made for your anthro au? I have a feeling it's Saint lol

Your feeling is not wrong, she's a favourite to draw!

But if I had to choose one, favourite design ever out of the ten, it would be the one for Shine (aka Monk, I really need to start using the names I gave them all for the AU here as well, gahh)

It's a surprising choice for me, because when it came to in-game depiction + popular fandom interpretations of Monk, I never really liked the guy (not disliked, just didn't think about the character a lot and found others more interesting). I don't usually dig the "peaceful, kind, happy" archetype characters in media in general, it's just not my thing, and most "fanmade character extensions" of Monk I've seen just expanded on that alone. It's not that they're anyhow wrong! They're just really not my thing and it always itches me to introduce more contrast or flavor in personalities of that sort. It's suprisingly hard to write a character who is mainly just really pure and avoids conflict, at least for me. Unhinged beasts with weird morals are sometimes just easier to grasp bwahaha

And with that, since it's "character design" and not just "design" - that initially made me feel like designing and creating the anthro AU equivalent for Monk would be a neccessary struggle and when I'm done, I won't ever pay much attention to a character I'd consider a bit more flat in comparison to what I had planned for others. But the longer I sketched, more "what ifs" came to mind and I ended up with Shine - still the younger sibling, just taller and bigger than the scrawny, troublemaking, older one. Took advantage of Share (Gourmand) being his parent, so he takes after him in size and personality a bit more. That opened a really fun path to explore with him.

I've decided to link his pacifist mentality and kindness not to being childish and bit unwise, but to idealism, stronger sense of justice and an overall aspiration to be reliable and responsible. He's still young and naive, but it doesn't come from being childish and having a "kill them with kindness, no other options allowed" mentality, but rather from being an inexperienced, future leader with a lot of potential. One that's often being very harsh on himself when his mistakes or faulty judgement causes a slip-up or a situation escalated in a way he couldn't predict. Sometimes, things just happen and there was no way to foresee the consequences or avoid confrontation, despite how hard everyone tried, and that's also a part of life - that's something Shine would struggle to accept. He's naive, but not dumb. Even with that - it doesn't stop him from being a very trustworthy and quick-thinking individual. I like that about him!

And this is also what's reflected in the design - he's on the taller side, with a more blocky build. Flowy, loose clothes both make him look really comfortable and chill, visually suggesting that he's more laid-back, not active, not used to fights and messy situations, while also pushing the silhouette to be a one, sturdy shape even more. That just yells "you can approach and trust this guy easily" by looks alone. From smaller details - he has the monk symbol in a visible place on his belt -> wants to signal to others that he's not a threat and is always willing to talk things out or settle for a compromise. He doesn't have much more accessories -> doesn't like showing off and isn't desperate for attention. The only striking, busy pattern he has on him is the striped sleeve to match his sib - he values Ways (Survivor) a lot!

From other designs for the AU - March, Ways and Steps (Spearmaster, Survivor and Rivulet) are also my favourites for various reasons, but this post is already a yap session. Maybe next time, if anyone's curious.

Thanks for the ask! Gave me an excuse to draw them more!!

AU tag here!

[gemini-queen42]

I've seen ppl talk abt how its high time Ganondorf gets some gender fuckery, but it's in refference to since we've got a bit of it for both Zelda & Link in games so far [As much as one can ofc w/out actually including anything queer], but I haven't seen anyone mention the fact that Ganondorf is just already so *Primed* for it. Like Real Non-Binary Shenaniganery. He already kinda IS-

Lemme Elaborate:

It is long established that the Gerudo are female only, using males of other races/species to have children- those males never being accepted within Gerudo society and there is only one Male Gerudo every 100 years, who will be their king- which is Ganondorf.

The Gerudo do *Not* have a gender binary.

they have a gender Unary, based upon also having a Unary sex:

Women, females.

[Side note, this also kinda makes them genderless, as there cant be any social constructs of gender when those just apply to everyone, thus just being.. general social constructs. Anyways-]

See, the Gerudo have adopted the *language* Of the gender binary, as it applies to when they interact with the other hyrulian races/species- [Cultural Exchange ! ♡ ] but the actual ideas/"rules" of this gender binary, as social constructs, dont actually *Apply* to the Gerudo [At the very least/especially not Within Their Own & Not Interaction with the other Hyrulian Groups]

So, being a gerudo Man is not the same Gender as being a man in any other hyrulian group.

Because the other groups are working on a binary social constructs.

And the gerudo are Not.

This is not going to come out as succinct as I want but;

Being a gerudo Man is much closer to being in a higher role of religious/spiritual power/authority due to being intersex / nonbinary or Vice Versa - than being a man as we / other hyrulian groups think of it.

Like. It kind of literally *Is* that.

He is outside the Gerudo's main gender structure, he is a special case, places in a special role because of it.

He's non-Unary. Technically every Gerudo is non-binary, but that's also complicated-

Because they kind of have this synchratism thing going on with the rest of Hyrule's ideas of gender, and they both generally connect Gender with Biological Sex, so they share ideas there- and they've certainly blended their ideas of gender together to cohabitate and match things up linguistically- but like. It doesn't feel right to say theyre just.. working under the gender binary everyone else is. Because they're not.

I kind of want to compare it to Two-Spirt & Trans. Like they're understood easily through each other, because theyre kind of the same thing- but like. Also No. And Two-Spirit is very specifically a Native American Identity that is specific to Native American Culture [I'm sorry I don't Currently recall specific tribes the term is tied to its 2am for me as im writing this fjsjdjd]

The difference between Gerudo Gender & Other Hyrulian Genders is kind of like that. Except lacking distinguishing terminology. And like this is a kinda loose comparison and not exact but hopefully it helps you get what I mean?

So like yeah. Obvi the rest of Hyrule does not regard a male gerudo as being a seperate gender from any other man, and the gerudo barely do either- because theyre using the language of the binary, and they've fit him into it, and the rest of hyrule isnt really considering how gerudo gender doesn't work like theirs. So they dont acknowledge it.

And neither does Nintendo lmao

But he IS.

Because what does being a man *mean* in a culture of Only Women?

Not the same as in a culture of two genders.

Because one is an exception, an outlier - and the other is just one of two boxes.

Anyways FUN FACT I have a LoZ au / storyline in which I incorporate and explore all this!!! [I have made no other posts about it yet I'm sorry but PLEASE feel free to ask abt it if you're curious !!! ♡]

Ok thats it thanks for coming to my TEDtalk lmao

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

Gojo in Lookism verse

Gojo Lookism AU

As soon as everyone says their goodbyes, Gojo expects peace to finally wash over him, but wait. As he opens his eyes, he realizes something’s off.

He’s in Seoul.

And he’s a she now.

Shock and horror are written all over her face as she stares at her reflection, trying to make sense of this. She’s a woman now? But when a certain incident occurs, and her strength remains intact, she lets out a sigh of relief. Sure, her Cursed Techniques are gone, and the Six Eyes don’t work as well anymore, but she’s still her. Perplexed, bewildered, and extremely confused, but still strong.

By some twist of fate, she stumbles into a showdown when Kitae was about to kill Jichang. Without a second thought, she ambushes Kitae effortlessly, intercepting the attack. The sheer display of strength leaves both of them stunned. Kitae just smirks and says, “Don’t die too easily.”

She sticks her tongue out in reply.

And then, she turns to Jichang.

He looks just like Nanami.

She starts pestering him relentlessly from that moment on. Somehow, he manages to put up with her chaos.

Her battle with James Lee is iconic: brutal, close, and full of smug trash talk from both sides. In the end, Gojo edges out a win. Barely. James makes a mental note to keep an eye on her. He’s intrigued.

After witnessing the absolute wreckage caused by the generation of wars and the endless cycle of power and bloodshed, Gojo decides she’s had enough. The kids, the next generation, are already neck-deep in it. Someone needs to step in. Someone strong enough to clean up this mess.

So, she applies to J High.

Why? Because that’s where most of the second-generation kids are. And more importantly, because Daniel Park, who seemed to be the prime target in everything, is there. She wants to keep a check on him.

On her first day, she rolls in a trolley. Not with books, but with sweets and good luck charms. She hands them out to the students (everyone except the teacher). The boys are instantly smitten by her looks; the girls treat her like an iconic diva. A living legend.

Vin Jin? Oh, he tries. He walks up to her to ask for her number, only to be laughed off. “Learn to control your hormones, Romeo.”

Somehow, she ends up roped into the 2nd generation and 4 crews mess. Not that she minds. She helps the kids train, diligently and ruthlessly. Gojo isn’t your typical mama bear. She won’t hold your hand. She’ll let you fight your battles, get bruised, and maybe even fall. But if things spiral out of control?

She’ll wreck havoc!

She guides them tactically, helping Daniel unlock his Ul perfectly, encouraging the others to bridge the gaps in their skills. She trains Crystal and Mary too. Because why not? Those two deserve more fight scenes anyway.

And then there’s that night.

Gun fights her. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced. He doesn’t fall in love, no, not his style. But the sheer exhilaration of the fight? Nothing tops it. Not James, not Kitae, not even Goo.

Fighting Gojo becomes his benchmark for euphoria.

As for dating—Kitae, James, Gun, and Goo all have wildly very very very different tastes in women. Gojo’s gorgeous, sure. But none of them are pining after her. It’s just not who they are. (Even in canon JJK, the main female cast didn’t want to date Gojo 🤷‍♀️)

But would they fight her?

Absolutely.

Gun, especially, can’t even tell anymore whether it’s his fists or his pants that are reacting. (Spoiler: it’s both.)🤡

[aspenlovesmedia]

So, I love Archivist Sasha obviously since I am litterally writing a whole fic based on that, but I also like to think about what would happen if Tim or Martin became the Archivist instead. I actually have au ideas for both, but I wanted to talk a bit about it in general.

Jon was always the perfect option (at least how he is in canon), curious and stubborn enough to look into things but also easy for Elias to manipulate.

Honestly I think out of all the s1 Archives team, Sasha is the most interesting to think about if she had gotten the job, since she has no connection to the Fears already and also Gertrude wanted her to be the next Head Archivist, which I think Elias wouldn’t like.

Tim and Martin both have problems from Elias’ standpoint, since Tim can be very unpredictable and Martin has no self preservation instinct. It’s just really interesting to me to think about what events would lead to them becoming Head Archivist to begin with, as well as what would happen afterwards.

For Shifted Gaze, the reason Sasha is chosen is because Jon’s not an option as he’s already a Web avatar, and Elias has a plan for Tim and Martin since pushing them in certain directions is actually quite easy, especially because of how Jon already being an avatar effects his relationships.

I don’t think Jon necessarily needed to be fully off the table for Elias to have chosen someone else though. I think if the job had been given to someone else, he would either do his absolute best to appease them, or would become overcome with jealousy.

Let’s face it, if Martin got the job, a s1 Jon being forced to work with him could only end badly. I don’t think he’d be so bad with Tim though. Like he would be jealous, but we know Jon and Tim did get on in s1, so I think he’d be obnoxious and pushy as to how he thinks things should be done, but he wouldn’t be doing it out of rage, unlike what he would be doing with Martin.

Anyway, I have a lot of thoughts on both Archivist!Tim and Archivist!Martin. I’ll probably do a posts on these at somepoint, although it will be a while until I get a chance to write them since Shifted Gaze is the priority and I don’t want to be writing all these the same time lol.

[heartnearu]

truth beneath your quiet | k.hj

guitarist!kim hongjoong x artist!reader

synopsis: hongjoong felt like freedom in a life that only ever caged you—an escape from the place you were told to call home. with him, the noise quieted, the weight eased, and for once, you weren’t drowning in expectations you could never reach. he was everything your heart longed for—everything you wanted, everything it quietly begged for, everything they said was too much to ask. and maybe that’s why your family hated him, because he gave you a glimpse of a freedom they never thought you were worthy of.

genre: romance / slowburn / angst

tropes: forbidden love

songs: what more can i say - the notations

WC: 15,940 [not really proofread]

NOTE: college au/band au | female reader, uses she/her pronouns. reader has mommy/daddy issues, maybe just family issues in general lol.

WARNING!! maybe some self harm(?), i’m unsure if it counts..

PART I

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

you sighed as you and your family entered the building, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come.

you were instantly surrounded by hollow chatter and practiced smiles, each exchange dripping with forced interest.

it didn’t make sense to you—how your parents insisted on attending these events, only to exchange polite words with people they barely tolerated, while bringing you and your siblings along to either watch the performance unfold or play a part in it yourselves.

you’ve always hated it.

it was all noise and nothing real. people just talk to hear themselves—pretending to care, pretending to listen.

not once did any of it feel genuine—it’s just a parade of perfect outfits, backhanded compliments, and people who only looked down to judge.

it’s a room full of polished lies and overpriced perfume, where everyone smiled like they hadn’t spent the car ride over complaining about each other.

everything about it is suffocating, and you want nothing more than to get out of there.

but all you can do is play your part, and smile at anyone who comes along to ask about your parent’s company.

once you and your family found your reserved table, each of you moved with quiet purpose—to win over investors and uphold the polished reputation of the family and its business.

you lose track of time by the tenth conversation. it hasn’t even been that long, but the way people are talking at you rather than to you makes it feel like the night will never end.

boredom seems to sink in fast when every interaction turns into a monologue about their own accomplishments.

once you were able to escape from the endless small talk, you found a quiet corner and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

you can feel the migraine setting in, and of course it would—tonight of all nights. like being here wasn’t already unbearable enough.

you let out another huff before closing your eyes and rubbing your temple in a frustrated manner.

“having a rough night?” a sudden voice chimed in.

the second you realized you’d been caught, your body snapped upright and your smile reappeared like reflex. it wasn’t until you met their eyes that you realized who you were looking at.

your smile softened into something more genuine, “good evening, mr. and mrs. kim.” you bow to show respect before continuing,“i apologize that you both seem to have caught me at a bad time. i didn’t expect to be seen by anyone.”

mrs. kim laughed under her breath, then waved her hand dismissively. “you have nothing to worry about, dear.” she reached over to adjust your dress, smoothing out a part that had shifted.

you felt a warmth bloom across your chest at the tenderness of her touch—gentle, like she truly cared.

she continued,“mr. kim was just concerned for you.”

being around them made the weight on your shoulders disappear. they were the only ones who were always genuine—every word, every action. you could see it in the way they spoke, in the way they moved.

they truly made it easier to be at these events, these gatherings were the only times your paths crossed anymore, ever since things changed.

“how have you been, my dear?” mr. kim questioned with a playful grin,“what have you been up to?”

you gave a small hum before speaking. “not much, mr. kim. with the semester finished, i had to move out of the dorms for the summer. i’ve been home with my family since.”

“i see,” mr. kim responded with a gentle nod, “it sounds like a well-earned break. i trust your family is keeping you on your toes.”

you nodded, but the words sat heavy.

yeah, they were keeping you on your toes—because resting never seemed to be an option.

you were constantly walking on eggshells, afraid that one wrong step might set everything on fire. but no matter how careful you are, it’s like they’re always searching for something to pin on you.

sometimes it feels like existing is enough to be at fault.

you forced a laugh,“they always do.”

“i hope the transition back home has been smooth. are you finding the time restful?” mrs. kim chimed in, “the process of moving in and out must be quite exhausting. for hongjoong, we only assisted him when he first settled into his apartment.”

the sound of his name made you pause.

hongjoong…

you both go to the same university, but you’re not sure if you’ve ever crossed paths—or if you simply never noticed.

you don’t pay much attention to the people around you anyway. you go where you need to go, do what needs to be done.

nothing more, nothing less.

you haven’t seen him in years. maybe not since high school. now, you’re both entering your final year of college.

you never really spoke to him—you never had a chance to, not with everything that happened between your families.

not with your parents always watching, always hovering.

honestly, you’re surprised you’ve even held a conversation with mr. and mrs. kim for this long.

before you could say a word, a cold voice interrupted, chilling the air that had just begun to feel safe.

“ah, mr. and mrs. kim, such a pleasure,” your father said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. his hand landed on your shoulder like a reminder. “i trust that my daughter has not been too much of a handful.”

“not at all. she’s been lovely company,” mr. kim said with a faint smile. “she’s been a pleasure to speak with, very mature. you should be proud.”

“as she should be, we expect nothing less.” your father replied, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “now if you excuse us, i believe that there are a few more people we need to speak with before the night ends.”

your father offered a final nod before turning sharply, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he led you back to the table—his grip was tight, almost like a silent warning not to resist.

once you reached the table, you were met with silence. no words, no glances—not even from your siblings. it was as if you weren’t there at all.

you sat quietly, watching as your siblings spoke to each other with ease, laughter slipping between them naturally.

your parents chimed in every now and then, switching between adding comments to their conversation and exchanging pleasantries with the adults at the surrounding tables.

it’s always been like this, even at home.

you’ve always felt out of place, like you weren’t meant to be there at all, like you were intruding on a life that was never really yours.

but this is the life you were born into.

you’re the extra in a show they don’t know you’re watching. they forget you exist—it’s like being a shadow at your own dinner table.

they move around you, talk over you, forget you. but the moment they need someone to disappoint them, they remember your name. like you’re invisible, until you’re not.

you let the thoughts drift.

replaying how they treated you only reopened wounds that never healed right.

unseen, unheard, forgotten.

it became a pattern you stopped trying to untangle.

you scanned the room, more out of boredom than curiosity, searching for anything that might distract you for the rest of the night.

your parents clearly had no intention of letting you wander far, it’s like you were on an invisible leash, only allowed to exist within their reach.

your gaze wandered, slipping through the haze of lights and movement—until it landed on him, and everything else seemed to pause.

across the room, someone held your gaze.

your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, trying to place the face that felt just familiar enough to haunt you.

he didn’t flinch—he only smirked, quirking a brow clearly amused by the fact that you were finally looking back.

your heart stuttered, and warmth bloomed across your cheeks.

you didn’t put the pieces together until your eyes shifted to the people beside him. that’s when the pieces seemed to fall into place.

seated beside him were none other than mr. and mrs. kim, making it painfully clear who it was that had been staring at you from across the room.

kim hongjoong.

you couldn’t help but wonder why he was even here.

he had every excuse not to be—living on his own now, far removed from nights like this.

you would’ve given anything to trade places with him, anything to not be here right now.

he looked different.

not in a bad way—just older, sharper, more self-assured.

there was something about him that seemed settled, like he’d figured out who he was.

it showed in the way he dressed, standing out effortlessly in a sea of suits and polished gowns. his bleached hair was a bold contrast to the blacks and browns around him, and somehow, it suited him.

everything about him was different.

and maybe that’s exactly why you couldn’t look away.

you couldn’t stop the jealousy that crept in.

all you ever wanted was to find yourself—to truly know who you are. but deep down, you don’t know if you ever will.

you weren’t raised, you were crafted.

built to their design, shaped to fit a role that was never truly yours. molded into the daughter they dreamed of, not the person you were meant to become.

but even that wasn’t enough to earn their love—they still looked past you. you gave pieces of yourself away, one by one, until there was nothing left to recognize.

now all that remains is the ache of not knowing who you really are.

you were never their child, just a creation.

and in the end, all you became was a stranger to yourself.

your mother’s voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, pulling you back just before you fell too far in.

a small mercy, maybe.

you blinked, grounding yourself, only to realize your eyes had been fixed on him the entire time—though it wasn’t him anymore. only the absence he left behind.

your brows furrowed, confused.

it wasn’t until the sound of your name echoed through your thoughts that you finally turned your attention to your mother.

your mother looked at you with that familiar expression, disappointment laced with barely contained anger.

her expression tight—barely concealing the frustration simmering beneath. “didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

you cleared your throat before speaking, steadying your voice to make sure it wouldn’t waver—wouldn’t betray anything she might notice. “i apologize, i was lost in my own thoughts. what is it you needed, mother?”

your mother tsked, turning her eyes away from you. “i’ve told you time and time again—pay attention to your surroundings. you’re always somewhere else, lost in thoughts that don’t matter.”

you stared blankly, her words melting into one another—just a stream of noise you couldn’t bring yourself to decipher.

as soon as she fell silent, you lowered your gaze. “i apologize, mother.” the words felt automatic. “it won’t happen again.”

your mothers eyes snapped back at you again, cold and unwavering. her tone even, but laced with judgment. “that kind of mistake shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

your eyes flicked toward her, the silence between you heavy with the words you knew were coming.

“be better.” the words were said under her breath, barely audible. but the threatening tone paired with the look in her eyes and the scowl on her face struck harder than a shout. “we expect more from you. clearly, everything we taught you went to waste.”

it felt like a judgment you could never escape.

you only nodded, turning to look forward. “i understand.”

you’re not sure how much time has passed, though it couldn’t have been long. without much thought, you asked quietly, “may i go to the ladies room?”

your mother gave a reluctant nod, her expression unreadable.

before you stood, your gaze swept over your family. they each seemed lost in their own world, unaware of the conversation that had just taken place.

you got up carefully, pushing in your chair with deliberate slowness. each step toward the restroom was steady, practiced—measured enough to hide the urgency crawling beneath your skin.

you didn’t dare glance back, unwilling to see which expression your parents might’ve worn: disappointment, disapproval, or worse—nothing at all.

as the distance grew, your pace quickened.

the further you got from the table, the more the noise dissolved into a distant hum. by the time you reached the restroom, you shut the door fast and locked it even faster.

a shaky breath escaped your lips. you didn’t need to use the restroom, you just needed an out—away from the heaviness your mother’s presence draped over the already stuffy evening.

thankfully, the venue had single-use restrooms. not rows of stalls and mirrors filled with other people. it was just you and silence.

you wanted to stay in there for the rest of the night, to disappear into the dim hum of the exhaust fan—but you knew you couldn’t.

you stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the reflection that didn’t feel like yours.

your eyes traced every detail, searching, hoping for some small part of yourself you could claim. something you chose.

but there was nothing.

the dress clung to you like expectation—picked out by your mother specifically for tonight.

your hair hung long down your back, untouched by scissors your father never let you near no matter how much you begged and pleaded.

“long hair is beautiful,” he always said, as if your own desires didn’t matter.

even your makeup wasn’t yours. soft, delicate. like porcelain. the way your parents liked it.

and as your gaze lingered, you felt a sharp ache under your skin—an urge to peel it all away.

your hands trembled with the urge to claw at your skin, to dig until it was raw and unrecognizable—just so you could start over.

none of it felt like you.

because none of it was.

you reached for the faucet in a daze, twisting it on with trembling fingers.

soap lathered quickly in your palms, and you scrubbed until your skin stung—until the burning in your hands almost distracted you from the one in your chest.

you rinsed them under the cold stream, a faint relief washing over you as the cool water soothed the rawness.

you let your hands linger there, watching the water spill and swirl.

for a moment, you were still—not deep in thought, just… gone. eyes glazed, mind blank. lost in the sound of running water and the rare stillness surrounding you.

you eventually reached for a paper towel, gently drying your hands and using the edge to turn off the faucet, careful not to undo the brief cleanliness you’d earned.

another towel in hand, you opened the door and stepped out, the faintest sense of calm trailing behind you.

you paused just outside, tossing the damp towel into the nearby bin.

your eyes flicked toward the direction you came from—toward the murmur of voices and clinking silverware that barely reached your ears now.

even from here, you could already feel the weight settling back on your shoulders.

your feet hesitated. your eyes wandered.

and that’s when you saw it.

a small balcony tucked away at the end of the hallway, just out of view when you first walked by.

maybe you missed it because you were too focused on escaping.

you stared at it now—then back toward the banquet room where your parents waited. the decision hung in the air like a held breath.

fresh air or forced smiles.

freedom or obedience.

you lingered, torn between the place that confined you and the one that might finally offer you a moment of your own.

on impulse, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the balcony, quiet but certain. you decided it was time—time to finally do something for yourself.

as you reached the entrance, you paused, just for a moment, eyes scanning the space ahead.

empty.

you stepped forward with a breath of cautious relief, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

your expression softened as the invisible weight you’d been carrying began to ease.

the air felt cooler here. freer.

the shackles didn’t fall off completely, but they loosened—and for now, that was enough.

your arms hung loosely over the edge as you looked up, the moon and stars scattered like quiet promises across the darkness.

you wished you had your phone, not to post, not to prove—just to capture this. the moon suspended in the sky, stars scattered like thoughts you hadn’t yet spoken.

but since you didn’t, you tried to memorize it.

every glint, every clouded edge, every quiet hue. you wanted to paint it later—not to replicate the sky, but to preserve how it made you feel.

to others, it was nothing special. just the moon. just stars. something they saw every night and never really looked at.

but to you, it was everything.

it was untouched by rules, by expectations, by voices telling you what to be.

it didn’t ask to be softened. it didn’t beg to be molded.

it just existed—bold, unashamed, beautiful in its own way.

and standing there, arms draped over the railing, you wished, just for a moment, that you could be like that too.

maybe someday.

you heard the floor creak faintly behind you.

your shoulders tensed, breath catching slightly. for a second, you considered pretending you hadn’t noticed. maybe they’d go away.

but they didn’t.

the footsteps that followed weren’t rushed. they didn’t carry the weight of authority.

not your mother.

not your father.

their footsteps echoed softly across the floor, slow and hesitant.

you kept your eyes forward, keeping your gaze on the sky, clinging to it like a lifeline.

from behind, a low voice threaded through the air—casual, but careful not to startle you,“didn’t think anyone else knew this was here.”

you shifted, eyes flicking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse.

hongjoong leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted with a lazy kind of smirk—like he knew he caught you off guard and was enjoying every second of it.

you hummed softly, eyes back on the sky as he moved beside you—close enough for his presence to brush against your own, but not enough to crowd it.

close enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt natural, even comforting.

still, your mind wandered, playing out different ways you could break it, searching for something, anything to say.

“you always this quiet, or am i just that boring?” he said with raised brows and a faint smile. his expression wasn’t judgmental, just curious and playful. “mind if i ask what’s got you looking like that?”

your gaze found his—and he was already watching, like he’d been hoping you’d turn around.

your mind blanked. you opened your mouth, then closed it. you didn’t know what to say, not with him looking at you like that.

he let the silence stretch a second longer before speaking, eyes never leaving yours.

he leaned in just slightly, voice low, the corners of his mouth tugging up in amusement. “don’t worry, i’ll do all the talking if it means you’ll keep looking at me like that.”

you looked away instantly, heat creeping up your neck. “i-i wasn’t… looking at you like anything.” you swallowed, voice quieter than you intended. “i didn’t mean to stare.”

“no?” he tilted his head, that smile still tugging at his lips. “could’ve fooled me.”

he chuckled as the heat from your neck spread to your face. “guess i’ll have to try harder then—get you to really stare.”

your face only burned hotter. “can you not say things like that?”

he grinned, clearly not sorry. “i could… but where’s the fun in that?”

you didn’t smile, not fully—but something flickered in your expression. a warning, or maybe an invitation,“you’re playing a dangerous game.”

his smile deepened, slow and deliberate.

“good,” he said, voice low. “i like a little risk.”

he didn’t move closer, but his presence felt heavier somehow, like the space between you was shrinking without either of you stepping forward.

his eyes lingered, watching your reaction, as if waiting to see if you’d pull away or say something else.

your heart thudded louder than it should’ve. you held his gaze, refusing to look away first.

he’s bringing out a part of you you don’t quite recognize—something unknown, bolder, more exposed.

it sits somewhere between curiosity and fear, and you’re not sure if it’s thrilling or dangerous.

you don’t know how to feel about it.

you just know that when he looks at you like that, it’s hard to think straight. harder to pretend you’re unaffected.

the scariest part is, some quiet part of you likes it—being seen like this. and worse, you’re not sure you’d stop him if he came any closer.

you barely know him, but somehow, this feels like exactly where you’re supposed to be.

something about this moment feels written into your bones. like you’ve been here before in some other life, waiting for him to turn and notice.

and somehow, you find yourself leaning into that feeling, welcoming it with open arms, hoping—maybe foolishly, that it’s real.

your lips parted, a comeback already forming—something to keep up the game.

then you heard the call of your name from afar.

and just like that, the moment cracked.

your features shifted, the spark fading. you didn’t move. part of you didn’t want to look back.

you avoided hongjoong’s gaze, your mind racing with what you’d say when they found you here—anywhere but where you were supposed to be.

as the footsteps drew closer, heavy with authority, your eyes darted around the space—searching, desperate for an out.

then you spotted it.

a narrow corner of the balcony, partially concealed by the wall. it wasn’t much, but it was just enough.

no one would notice it in passing; only someone actually stepping out into the balcony and looking for something would see it.

you moved without thinking.

your hand closed around hongjoong’s wrist, pulling him with you. you pushed him gently into the space first, tucking him deeper into the shadows before slipping in beside him.

instinctively, you angled your body so that if someone were to walk in and spot you, hongjoong would stay hidden. you could step out—say something, take the fall without giving him away.

you could already imagine the hell you’ll go through if you get caught with hongjoong, even if you guys were just talking.

you held your breath, eyes locked on the entrance.

your chest was pressed close against his, your face turned away from hongjoong, focused solely on the spot where the footsteps would appear.

watching, waiting.

you needed to see the moment they arrived—and the moment they left.

the two of you stood still, pressed tightly into the corner as your father came into view. he called your name again, his voice echoing slightly as he peered into the balcony from the hallway.

your brows pinched together, silently praying for him to turn back, to return to the table, to go anywhere else.

anywhere but here.

just when it seemed like he was about to leave, turning slightly on his heel, you saw hongjoong part his lips in the corner of your eye, ready to speak.

your hand moved before he could speak, quickly reaching up and gently covering his mouth.

he froze, eyes locked on yours in surprise.

you quickly brought a finger to your own lips with your free hand, mouthing a desperate shh before glancing back to where your father was.

your father halted for a moment, as if he’d heard something—waiting, listening, on edge.

your chest tightened.

just as he took a step toward the balcony, ready to investigate, a voice called his name from a distance. he turned sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing as he recognized it.

with a practiced smile, he stepped away, heading off to engage in conversation.

you exhaled quietly, relieved someone had caught his attention before he could see you.

“that was close,” you whispered, barely turning to hongjoong.

it was only then that you realized—your hand was still pressed over his mouth.

his eyes met yours, confused but undeniably amused.

flustered, you pulled your hand away in a rush.

“sorry—sorry,” you muttered, words tumbling out as your fingers anxiously smoothed out the front of his clothes, straightening wrinkles you’d caused.

“i didn’t mean to–i just panicked. you were about to talk and i—” you stopped yourself, breath catching again. not from fear this time, but from the way he was looking at you.

his head fell back as he burst into laughter.

you only watched, caught between embarrassment and disbelief, until his laughter gradually softened—until his eyes landed on you again, warm and lingering.

“you know, most people buy dinner before pinning someone to a wall.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, lips curved into cocky smile.

only then did you register how close you were to him. heat bloomed across your face, and you stumbled back in a flustered rush—nearly tripping over yourself in your attempt to put space between you.

you cleared your throat, refusing to meet his eyes. “i wasn’t pinning you—i was hiding. big difference.” your voice came out a touch too defensive, only making the heat on your cheeks worse.

hongjoong let out a low chuckle.

“sure,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “but if that’s what hiding looks like with you, remind me to get caught more often.”

you pouted at his teasing and at how flustered he made you feel, your eyes flicking toward the hallway before drifting back to him, the weight of the moment tugging gently at your heart.

“as much as i want to stay,” you murmured, “they’re expecting me… and i should get back.”

he held your gaze for a beat too long, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes.

then he tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“guess i’ll just wait here, in case you change your mind.” his tone was light, almost teasing—but his eyes lingered on yours, steady and quiet, like he meant more than he let on.

you felt the words settle deep in your chest, heavier than they sounded.

your lips parted, as if to say something—anything. but nothing came.

so instead, you offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite hide the way your heart tugged at the thought of staying.

and then, without another word, you turned and walked away—you could feel his gaze lingering on you, burning at your back.

you wanted to turn around, to say screw it and stay there with him, to let yourself have the moment—consequences be damned.

but you didn’t.

you couldn’t.

because deep down, you weren’t sure what would happen… and that uncertainty held you still.

“wait—” his voice stopped you mid-step. not loud, but urgent enough to reach you.

you turned, just slightly, eyes meeting his once more.

“your number,” he said, softer now. “can i have it?”

his expression had lost the teasing edge—it was honest now, maybe even a little unsure.

like he was afraid this moment might slip away entirely.

you hummed softly, pretending to think—wanting to give him a taste of the same teasing he’d given you, before letting a wistful smile bloom across your face.

“i don’t have my phone,” you said, almost apologetically, “and i doubt you’re the type to carry pen and paper.”

you stepped back, your fingers grazing the edge of the doorway. “if the universe wants it, i’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.”

you shot him a playful look over your shoulder. “besides, summer’s just getting started anyways.”

without waiting for a reply, you turned and walked off—his silence settling like dust in your wake.

as you got closer to the table, the voices grew louder. but this time, the weight didn’t follow.

there was no pressure, no guilt, no knot of worry tightening in your chest—not even the hard stares from your parents could break through the calm as you took your seat.

you were so used to the fear, the pressure, the constant worry of messing up. it had been with you for as long as you could remember.

but something about the short time you spent with hongjoong had shifted that. it left you feeling lighter, almost weightless. instead of you worrying about what others thought about you, your thoughts drifted toward him.

whatever your parents were upset about, you honestly didn’t care. at least not at the moment.

“where were you?” her voice wasn’t loud, but the way she looked at you said enough.

you straightened your dress, ignoring the tension in the air. “i went exactly where i said i would.”

you could feel how much it bothered her—that you wouldn’t look at her. “no one spends that much time in the ladies room,” she said, each word precise.

“that would be correct,” you said, glancing at her from the corner of your eye as you folded your hands in your lap. “i got caught in a conversation with a potential investor. i assumed you’d rather i not walk away from that just to come sit here, right?”

a little white lie never hurt anybody.

a flicker of something passed through her eyes—irritation, maybe embarrassment, but she simply folded her hands and said nothing.

you bit back a small smile, careful not to let it show. she didn’t respond, and that silence alone told you—she knew you were right.

your father was caught up in a conversation with someone beside him, which you figured was the only reason he hadn’t said anything to you yet.

you stayed quiet, your gaze casually sweeping the room until it landed on the kim’s table.

you tried to pretend you only did so to see who was currently speaking on the stage, but you knew that wasn’t why.

you weren’t looking for the speaker talking about their company—you were looking for him.

because even in a room full of voices, he was the only one you wanted to hear.

you noted that he wasn’t at the table yet, it was only his father.

your eyes scanned the room, searching for the only person who stood out in this sea of tailored suits and practiced smiles.

and then you saw him.

he was by the bar with his mother, carefully helping her with her bag while she reached for a drink from the refreshment table.

you shifted your gaze the moment you saw him, careful not to linger too long.

the last thing you needed was your family noticing, or worse—him catching you in the act.

you distracted yourself with the hem of your dress, fiddling with the fabric as if it held answers.

you were waiting for the perfect moment to look up again—and when you did, he was no longer there.

without thinking, your eyes instantly began searching for him.

it didn’t take long.

he was already back at the table with his mother, pulling out her chair softly before sitting down beside her.

he exchanged a few words with both his parents—and then his eyes found yours.

you looked away almost immediately, doing your best to seem unbothered, as if you hadn’t just been watching him like he was the only thing that mattered in the room.

your sister looked at you, confused. “why are you so red?” she asked, brows pinched slightly as she leaned in from across the table.

you could only avoid her stare as you shrugged,“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

she hummed, unconvinced, but leaned back in her seat, still watching you with an amused glint in her eyes.

you met her gaze briefly before turning away, making it clear the conversation was over.

you decided it was best not to glance back toward hongjoong—not after he most likely caught you staring.

just the thought of it made the tips of your ears burn.

how embarrassing.

you’ve only had a small interaction and yet, you’re searching the crowd like you’ve known him in another life—like the crush you swore you didn’t have has already claimed you anyway.

for the rest of the night, you stayed quiet, surrounded by hollow laughter and dull conversation that barely touched you.

your mind drifted somewhere far from the table, to all the places you’d rather be, to all the versions of this night that didn’t include feeling so out of place.

when your father finally leaned in to mention that you’d be leaving soon, you nodded, grateful.

you were more than ready to disappear back into your own space, where no one was watching, and you didn’t need to pretend to be someone you weren’t.

so when your father stood and motioned for you to follow, you didn’t hesitate.

you rose quietly, smoothing your dress as you stepped away from the table, barely listening to the goodbyes being exchanged around you.

something tugged at you, like a thread you hadn’t noticed was still tied to him.

you allowed your eyes to wander, for one last time.

he hadn’t moved, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips—like he knew exactly what effect he had on you.

you tilted your head ever so slightly, letting a slow, knowing smile rise to your lips—then turned, walking away like your heart hadn’t almost launched itself into orbit the moment you caught him already looking.

like you hadn’t let one stupid interaction and a series of stolen glances take up more space in your mind than they had any right to.

once you were all in the car and settled into your seats, you reached for the headphones you’d stashed in your bag, ready to tune out the night entirely—when your father suddenly called your name before you can put your earbuds in.

“what did you think you were doing talking to them?” your father’s voice cut through the silence, eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.

your mother didn’t turn, but the glare she shot you from the passenger seat was enough.

the rest of the car went still, the weight of what could follow pressing down on everyone like a held breath.

your father didn’t have to say any names for you to know who he was talking about.

“they approached me. i didn’t go looking for them.” your jaw clenched slightly, eyes fixed on a point just past the front seats. “they caught me off guard, and there was no easy way to walk away.”

“no easy way to walk away?” his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “there’s always a way if you actually wanted one.”

he flicked his eyes back to the mirror. “being caught off guard isn’t an excuse. next time, you keep it short, you excuse yourself, and you leave. understood?”

you stayed quiet, offering only a stiff nod. words would’ve only made things worse.

“we didn’t think we had to remind you who you are. but maybe we were wrong to believe you understood what’s expected of you.” your mom kept her tone level, but the sting of her words settled in deep, heavier than if she’d screamed.

you didn’t understand why they were so angry—why they looked at you like you’d done something unforgivable.

part of you wanted to say it out loud, to ask if it wasn’t their precious reputation they were always so obsessed with.

if you’d ignored one of the most powerful names in the room, the rumors would’ve caught fire before the night even ended.

but if it had been your brothers or your sister—or maybe even anyone else but you, they would’ve been applauded.

they would’ve been praised for their composure, their charm, for maintaining the illusion that everything was fine.

they would’ve been called smart for keeping the peace.

but you?

no.

when it’s you, it’s always different.

when it’s you, it’s always wrong.

everything between your parents and the kim’s happened years ago.

you were just a child then, your sister barely out of infancy, your brothers caught somewhere between boyhood and adolescence.

the families used to be close—inseparable, even.

best friends since high school, through college, weddings—they’d stood beside each other at every major milestone, so close it was hard to tell where one family ended and the other began.

after college, they started a company together. and for a while, things were good.

successful, stable.

until it wasn’t.

your parents found papers in the office—documents they believed proved the kim’s were planning a takeover, a betrayal cloaked in business strategy.

they were furious.

when they confronted the kim’s, the response was immediate denial.

“we’d never do that to you,” they said. “you’re family.”

but your parents didn’t believe them. they didn’t even hesitate.

the split was swift, bitter, final. and you’ve heard that version of the story your whole life.

something in you doesn’t want to believe your parents.

a part of you holds on to the quiet hope that there’s more to the story—something they’ve chosen not to tell you, or maybe something they’ve chosen to forget.

you never knew the kim’s the way your parents did. you were just a child when it all fell apart.

but what you do know is that you’ve witnessed the way the kim’s speak to you with gentle voices, with kindness in their eyes, the way they’ve never once returned the bitterness thrown at them—none of it matches the version your parents have painted.

still, their words echo in your head,“wolves always hide in sheep’s clothing.”

you want to believe them. you really do.

but how can you, when the people you were raised to resent are the only ones who’ve ever made you feel safe?

the silence in the car was loud—thick, uncomfortable as you all made your way back home.

you thought about putting your headphones in like you had planned, desperate to tune it all out, but you knew better.

doing that now would only stir more trouble.

“did you see how hongjoong presented himself?” your mother finally broke the silence, her voice sharp with disapproval. “not only did he bleach his hair, but he showed up in completely inappropriate attire. how could they allow him to go out like that?”

her tone dripped with judgment, not even trying to hide the satisfaction of tearing someone down under the guise of concern.

you felt your eye twitch slightly, the irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

you bit down on your tongue, trying to distract yourself to stay quiet—to not say something that’d only make your situation worse.

your mother went on, relentless.

“and beomjoong didn’t even show up. how does that look?” she scoffed softly, as if the answer disgusted her. “how could his parents not see how disgraceful it is to let hongjoong show up like that? he looked like—”

she paused, searching for the right insult, “like a delinquent. like he didn’t belong there at all.”

your lips moved before your mind could stop them. “he looked perfectly fine. in fact, he carried himself better than most people there.”

your mother stiffened, but you continued.

“you speak about his appearance as if that’s the real issue—but it isn’t. it’s simply the excuse you’ve chosen. let’s not pretend this is about hair or clothing. we both know it’s not.” your voice was calm, but every word landed with precision.

“you speak about others as though they’re beneath you, simply because they don’t align with your curated standards. it’s cruel.” you looked at her, expression unreadable. “and frankly, it’s exhausting to listen to.”

“you preach values like kindness, acceptance, compassion—but your actions reflect the complete opposite. you carry yourself as if you’re above everyone else, as if judgment is your right.”

your gaze sharpened. “you’re a hypocrite. and that is what’s truly disgraceful, not someone’s hair or outfit.”

you let the silence stretch between you. “perhaps reflect on that before passing judgment on people you’ve never even tried to understand.”

your sister stared at you, mouth slightly agape, while your brothers wore matching expressions of stunned disbelief.

you’ve never been one to speak up.

your mother’s eyes began to well with tears—but you knew better than to fall for it.

she had tears on cue, paired with carefully timed silence—an act you’d seen far too many times.

every sniffle, every trembling breath was designed to shift the blame, to recast herself as the one who’d been wronged.

the victim.

and, like always, she knew someone, who was likely your father—would come rushing to her side, ready to defend her without hesitation or question.

“that’s enough.” your father’s gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “you will apologize. now.”

“how could you say such things about me and your father?” she finally whispered, voice trembling just enough to sound fragile.

“i don’t know when you stopped respecting us.” his voice wasn’t loud, but the words were sharp. “maybe we were wrong to believe you understood what family meant.”

your eyes hardened.

there was so much more you wanted to say—so much you could’ve thrown back at them, called out, forced them to finally see themselves for what they really were—hypocrites hiding behind titles like mother and father.

but you held it in.

you’d said enough for one day.

right now, all you wanted was to get to your room.

to close the door, and breathe without feeling like you were being pulled apart from the inside out.

you’ve always known what family should be—what it could be.

and that’s what makes this unbearable.

it’s only now that you’ve stopped pretending it isn’t.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

the slight hums from your speaker filled the room with soft music, barely loud enough to distract from your thoughts.

it was already 2 a.m., yet you were still wide awake—covered in smudges of oil paint, with tubes and brushes scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers to your restlessness.

you sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, hunched over, painting from memory—the stars, the moon, the way they had hung so gently in the sky with beautiful imperfection.

none of it was perfect. but it didn’t need to be. it was never about precision—it was about feeling.

art had always been that for you.

an escape.

a language you learned young, when words weren’t safe.

you were never allowed to speak freely about how you felt. vulnerability was seen as weakness, and your parents made sure you understood that.

so, you learned to keep quiet. learned to keep everything in.

and in the silence, you found art.

it gave everything weight. it let you express emotions you didn’t know how to name.

it gave things meaning, even if that meaning looked different to everyone else.

and maybe that’s what you liked most about it—how a single painting could be a thousand things at once, depending on who was looking.

but no one looked.

no one ever saw them.

your works were hidden. all of them.

canvases shoved beneath your bed, drawings stuffed into old folders, sketchbooks stacked with years of secrets.

every piece was a part of you, and that was the terrifying part.

because even now, as much as you ached to be understood, the idea of someone seeing all that rawness was something you couldn’t bear.

you were told to never be vulnerable.

so you kept everything tucked away.

even the most honest parts of you.

you sat back up again, staring at the painting in front of you.

the stars were too smudged, the moon too bright, but somehow… it still felt right. like your hands had remembered something your mind wasn’t ready to admit.

you let the brush fall from your fingers. it landed with a soft clink against the jar of turpentine beside you.

then you just sat there, staring—not at the painting, not at the mess, but past it all.

past the scattered thoughts and quiet music and the ache in your chest that you didn’t want to name.

your mind drifted again. back to him.

back to the moment he looked at you.

really looked.

he looked at you like he saw something no one else ever took the time to notice.

and maybe he hadn’t meant anything by it. maybe it was just a glance.

maybe it was nothing.

but it didn’t feel like nothing.

it felt like something.

something you couldn’t name, something you couldn’t explain, something you couldn’t shake.

and it was frustrating.

because why did you care so much?

you barely knew him.

you hadn’t even shared more than a few words, and yet he was the only person your mind kept circling back to—like some unspoken gravity kept pulling you toward him.

you hated how repeatedly you have caught yourself thinking about that evening.

about him.

you sat there. surrounded by paint, by silence, by everything unsaid.

it didn’t make sense.

but maybe it didn’t have to.

because for some reason—when it came to him, everything just felt right.

you sighed, bringing your hands to your lap. they were stained—mostly black and blue, with hints of white, yellow, and everything in between.

you smiled softly at the display.

art, for you, had always been messy. and that’s exactly what you loved about it. there’s no specific rules you need to follow when it comes to art—everything is under your terms.

the smudges on your skin, the splatters on the floor, the uneven brush strokes—they were all part of it. all part of the process.

it was a quiet kind of proof that feeling had been there—that you had poured something real into the canvas, even if no one else would ever see it.

it wasn’t just paint on a canvas.

it was you.

you huffed softly as you stood, careful not to touch anything else—mindful of the paint still clinging to your skin.

your hands reached for the canvas on the floor, as you held it up and tilted your head slightly, studying it.

even though you love art, you rarely love the outcome of your own.

that’s another reason why you always hide them.

you don’t throw them away—you just tuck them out of sight. you let time pass, let yourself forget. because when you find them again, months later, something always shifts.

you’ll look at a piece you once thought was awful, and suddenly it’ll feel different.

softer, better—maybe even beautiful.

you smiled faintly at the thought. maybe this one would be like that too.

walking across the room, you made your way to the small nail near your door.

you’d placed it there specifically for the pieces that needed to dry before disappearing beneath your bed.

it was hidden by the door when it opened, it was a little secret spot.

no one would see the painting unless they closed the door all the way.

you hung it up gently, stepping back to look one last time.

it still didn’t feel finished.

some things speak loudest when they’re incomplete.

you walked back to where you were before, reaching for your scattered supplies. one by one, you began putting them back in their rightful place—brushes in jars, paint tubes capped and tucked away, canvases stacked neatly beneath your bed like secrets only you were allowed to know.

once everything was back in order, you stepped out into the hallway and made your way to the bathroom. under the soft hum of fluorescent lights, you began scrubbing the paint from your skin—blues, blacks, yellows clinging to your hands like memories that didn’t want to let go.

when you returned, the room was still. quiet. the kind of quiet that usually invited sleep.

you laid back down, pulling the blanket over you, letting your body sink into the mattress. you closed your eyes. waited.

but it didn’t come.

after several minutes of twisting, turning, sighing heavily into the darkness, you reached for the lamp and turned it back on.

the light felt harsh at first, unwelcome, but somehow necessary.

you got up and walked over to your desk, grabbing a sketchbook from the top drawer.

your fingers brushed over the cover, familiar and worn.

the edges were bent, creased from how often you flipped through it.

in the beginning, you always tried to keep your sketchbooks looking neat, looking perfect. but by the time you reached the last page, they always looked a little worn.

you’ve grown to like that.

it meant you’ve filled them with something real. it meant you used them fully.

you sat in your chair and opened it, flipping through pages filled with old thoughts, half-finished ideas, images captured in pencil, charcoal, ink, oil pastels.

each one different. each one saying something you didn’t know how to say out loud.

once you landed on an empty page, your pencil met the paper.

your hand moved without asking for permission, gliding in strokes that felt erratic but calm, unplanned but certain.

you didn’t know what you were drawing—not at first.

it felt like your hand had a mind of its own, like your heart knew something your thoughts hadn’t caught up to yet.

and still, you drew.

you didn’t think much as you continued.

your hand just… moved.

lines began to form—soft at first, then sharper.

you tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to make sense of the shapes forming beneath your pencil.

still, you didn’t stop.

you shaded beneath the eyes—eyes you hadn’t meant to draw.

they weren’t exact, but there was something familiar about them.

the angle of the brow, the softness around the lashes, the quiet intensity. it felt accidental but intentional at the same time.

you paused, blinking.

the line of the nose. the curve of the lips. that faint smirk you didn’t even know you’d memorized.

you stared at the page, realization sinking in slowly.

it was him.

you hadn’t meant to draw him—you didn’t even know you remembered his face that well.

but there he was.

quiet, undefined in some places, but undeniably him.

you leaned back in your chair, pencil resting lightly in your fingers.

you didn’t know what it meant. or why your thoughts kept coming back to him no matter how far you tried to pull away.

it seemed that no matter how much you tried to stop thinking of him, he found his way into everything.

even here.

even in the one place that had always been just yours.

your escape.

and yet—he had slipped into it, effortlessly.

not by force, not loudly, but gently. quietly.

so quietly, you hadn’t even realized he was there until it was too late.

you looked down at the sketch again, heart tight in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

you didn’t mean for this.

but somewhere deep down, you knew you did.

your heart had already chosen before your mind caught up. he lived there now—in the parts of you you didn’t speak of.

your sketchbook remained open as you sat there, staring at the rough sketch of hongjoong.

you didn’t tear the page out, not this time.

you let it stay—unfinished, imperfect, honest. like the way he’d taken up space in your mind.

quietly, without permission.

as if he was meant to be there all along.

you tilted your head back with a groan as you ran your fingers through your hair.

how did he get here?

not physically—no, he was somewhere far from this room, probably asleep, probably unaware that he’d managed to invade the one part of your life that had always been just yours.

how did he make his way into your mind so effortlessly?

into your thoughts, your sketchbook, your mind?

you hated it.

you hated how easily it happened.

how you didn’t even realize you were letting him in until he was already everywhere.

you leaned forward again, elbows resting on the edge of the desk, your eyes falling once more on the sketch.

his face stared back at you—soft around the edges, incomplete, but still him.

you didn’t know what he wanted from you.

you didn’t even know what you wanted.

but you couldn’t deny it anymore.

he was here. and some part of you had let him in.

what made it worse—what made it infuriating was the thought that he was probably left completely unaffected.

unscathed.

meanwhile, you here you were—spiraling.

your eyes narrowed, glaring down at the face that stared back at you from the page.

your brows drew in, tight with frustration.

without thinking, you snapped the sketchbook shut.

“fuck,” you muttered, dragging your hands down your face, as if you could scrape the feeling off your skin.

you sighed, for what felt like the millionth time tonight—and let your elbows fall onto the desk, resting your head in your hands.

“just how pathetic am i?” you whispered into the silence.

and the silence, as always, said nothing back.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

the next morning, you woke up late.

luckily, it was the weekend, so it didn’t really mean much.

with a quiet groan, you stretched, rubbing your eyes one last time before reaching for your phone on the bedside table.

you squinted against the light as the screen lit up—almost one in the afternoon.

you were confused.

by now, your parents usually would’ve barged in, barking about how late it was and why you weren’t up yet.

but the house stayed quiet. maybe they were still bothered by what you said yesterday. or maybe they hadn’t even noticed you were still in your room.

either way, you were grateful.

no yelling, no orders—no being told what to do while your siblings sat right there, untouched by the same expectations.

you set your phone back down and finally got up.

the air still held that faint smell of turpentine. it used to bother you, but by now it was familiar—just another part of your space.

you made your way to the window and cracked it open, letting the summer breeze slip in.

you stood there for a moment, staring out, letting the light wash over you.

it felt… different.

everything looked brighter. the kind of bright you hadn’t noticed in years.

like how summer used to look when you were a child—before things got heavier. before the world turned gray.

the grass looked greener, the trees seemed to glow, the sky shimmered, soft clouds moving lazily like they had all the time in the world.

you took a deep breath. the air felt light, clean—almost like it used to.

a small smile tugged at your lips.

you turned to head to the restroom, but your eyes paused on your desk. your sketchbook sat there, untouched since last night.

still. waiting.

you didn’t open it. just stared at it for a moment.

your fingers brushed lightly against the cover before you slid it back into your drawer.

you stood there, unmoving.

thinking about the face you’d drawn—the person who hadn’t left your thoughts since you first saw him.

you told yourself it was just a drawing, lines on paper.

a coincidence, a passing moment.

just a face.

just a sketch.

just someone who somehow kept finding his way into your mind.

but you knew better.

you continued your way to the restroom, deciding it was finally time to start your day—unknowing of how difficult that would be, when your mind had already chosen to orbit one person and one person only.

no matter what you did, he was there—in the quiet.

in the corners of your thoughts where no one else had ever stayed this long.

and the day hadn’t even begun.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

a couple of days had passed since the banquet.

each day blurred into the next—the same routine, the same attempts to focus, the same silent battle against the thoughts that refused to leave you alone.

him.

you tried to shake it.

tried to move forward, to do what needed to be done, to forget.

but every task was shadowed by him. every silence filled with the memory of a glance, a voice, a presence.

it was starting to wear on you—how persistent it all felt. how he clung to your thoughts like something you couldn’t wash off.

you were annoyed.

frustrated even—yet you were still thinking of him.

as if your own mind had betrayed you, as if some part of you had quietly decided he was worth remembering, even when you swore he wasn’t.

your sketchbook had become the quiet evidence of it all.

it was no longer just one rough sketch.

page after page—each one different, yet all the same.

they were filled with different versions of him.

the way he looked at the banquet, the slight curve of his mouth, the way the light caught in his eyes—things you didn’t know you had memorized until they were already marked on the page.

you were embarrassed.

no matter how hard you tried, it always led back to him.

you could start a drawing with every intention of creating something else, anything else—but somewhere along the way, the lines would shift, the shapes would change, and suddenly…

it was him again.

his eyes.

his mouth.

the quiet tilt of his head.

details you never meant to remember, but did anyway.

it wasn’t on purpose.

at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

but the evidence said otherwise—page after page of it.

you hated how easily your hand betrayed you. how your thoughts wandered, uninvited, back to him the moment your pencil touched the paper.

you used to draw to escape.

now it felt like you were only chasing him across every page.

you stared at the latest sketch, jaw tense, breath shallow.

you hadn’t even realized it was him again until it was too late.

the eyes gave it away. they always did.

you dropped the pencil like it burned.

your hands hovered for a moment—uncertain, caught between wanting to tear the page out and not being able to touch it at all.

you didn’t move.

you just sat there, staring.

and then, with a frustrated breath, you slammed the sketchbook shut.

the sound echoed, louder than it should’ve in the quiet of your room.

you leaned back in your chair, eyes stinging.

you didn’t cry.

you didn’t scream.

you just sat there—still, silent, and tired.

you felt stupid.

all of this for someone you barely even know.

and yet, he was still everywhere.

you heard your brother call your name from the hallway, pulling you from your thoughts.

you turned your head toward the doorway as he stepped in. “mom said if you could go out for groceries. she needs a couple things for dinner.”

you looked away, glancing at the time. it was around 10 am, seemed like the perfect time to get out of the house.

you nodded slowly. “tell her i’ll be right down.”

he gave a quick nod and left without another word.

you sat there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle again before finally getting up.

you felt grateful for the errand—it gave you an excuse to leave the house. to move and be distracted.

to breathe something that wasn’t thick with thoughts of him.

you changed into something simple, made yourself look presentable enough, and headed downstairs to talk to your mother.

after getting a list of what she needed, you made your way out.

as you stepped out the door, your eyes flicked to the driveway—three cars, each one parked neatly, unused. their owners still inside, doing whatever they pleased.

you scoffed under your breath.

of course they sent the only one without a car to run the errand—your mother could’ve even went herself but decided to send you instead.

you shook your head with a dry laugh, reaching into your bag to grab your headphones.

you untangled the wire, fingers moving on instinct, and plugged them into your phone. music poured through them the second they connected—loud, familiar, numbing in all the ways you needed.

you made your way toward the bus station, each step pulling you further from the house, from the stillness of your room.

and yet, even with music blasting in your ears and the distance between you, you still felt him there—just beneath the surface.

once you made it to the shopping center, you felt more at ease.

even with the sun beating down on you as you walked, there was something calming about being away from the house.

away from the walls that remembered too much.

just the act of being somewhere else—surrounded by people who didn’t know you, who didn’t expect anything.

it brought you a strange kind of peace.

you walked into the grocery store with your phone in hand, the grocery list glowing softly on the screen.

the mundane task felt lighter than usual.

you grabbed a cart, dropped your bag into it, and started humming quietly to the music still playing in your ears.

your fingers trailed along boxes and shelves as you moved through the aisles, checking off items one by one.

but as you reached for the last item, you caught sight of someone passing by in the corner of your eye.

you turned slightly, expecting a stranger, but your breath caught when your eyes landed on a familiar figure a few aisles over.

it wasn’t him.

but for a second, your heart genuinely believed it could’ve been.

you quickly looked away, irritated with yourself—your chest ached in a way you didn’t want to name.

you focused on the list again, as if the words could ground you.

as if bread you were holding could erase the memory of his face, the sound of his voice, the way he looked at you like he knew something you didn’t.

you clenched your jaw and pushed the cart forward.

this wasn’t supposed to happen here.

not in the grocery store.

not in the middle of a list, of a normal day, of a moment that had felt so peaceful just minutes before.

but he had a way of finding you—even when he wasn’t there at all.

you went to the cashier, slightly annoyed.

could you really be that delusional?

to imagine him in the store, to trick yourself into thinking a stranger was him—when it wasn’t even close?

you sighed, placing your items on the conveyor belt with a little more force than necessary.

the thought lingered in your chest like embarrassment, warm and heavy.

he wasn’t here. he never was.

just your mind playing tricks on you again. pulling him into places he didn’t belong.

you avoided eye contact with the cashier, mumbling a polite greeting as you pulled out your wallet.

you were tired of this.

tired of carrying him everywhere.

tired of missing something you never even had.

as the cashier scanned the last item and gave you the total, you nodded quietly, paid, and gathered your things.

you needed to get home.

or maybe you just needed a distraction—anything to pull your thoughts away from the spiral they were so eager to fall into.

as you stepped outside, your eyes landed on the cafe across the street.

a small place tucked between a laundromat and the thrift store you usually go to when you’re back home, with soft-colored umbrellas and a chalkboard sign you couldn’t quite read from where you stood.

it had to had recently opened at least this year because you hadn’t seen it last time you came home. either way you’re happy you found out about it now.

what’s better than getting a sweet treat after days of suffering with unwanted thoughts?

you sighed through a soft smile and waited for the light to change.

the walk over was short, but it gave you just enough time to convince yourself you deserved this—something soft. something warm.

something that didn’t remind you of him.

you pushed the door open, the soft chime of the bell above greeting you like an old friend.

the scent of coffee and sugar immediately wrapped around you.

you pulled your headphones down to rest around your neck as you approached the counter. the music still played faintly, a soft hum against the quiet murmur of the café.

you greeted the cashier with a polite smile, then ordered a drink and one of the pastries displayed behind the glass—something sweet, something warm. comfort disguised as dessert.

after paying, you thanked them and glanced around until your eyes landed on a small table by the window.

it was tucked away just enough to feel hidden, like a quiet corner made for people who didn’t want to be seen.

you placed the grocery bags on the bench, then sat down beside them.

the window beside you let in soft light, casting a faint glow across the wooden table.

outside, people passed by without urgency. and for a moment, you let yourself exist in the quiet.

being out in public alone wasn’t new.

it was something you did all the time, so it wasn’t awkward for you to sit by yourself. in fact, you preferred it.

you weren’t one to go to parties or to even go out much. you don’t really have close friends so no one was really there to push you to go out either.

but it’s not something that makes you sad, going out alone is sometimes fun.

you liked to watch the world around you move, to see people living their lives in real time.

couples holding hands, kids tugging at their parents, strangers laughing over coffee, others rushing past with purpose.

it fascinated you—how your life could be going one way while someone else’s was moving in a completely different direction.

different stories, different pain, different joy.

all unfolding at the same time.

it made you feel small in a comforting way.

like whatever you were feeling, whatever you were carrying, it wasn’t the only thing that existed.

and for a moment, that made it easier to breathe.

as you waited for your name to be called, you reached into your bag and pulled out the sketchbook that had been haunting you for the past few days.

you had shoved it in last minute before leaving the house, telling yourself it was just in case—just in case something caught your eye, just in case you wanted to draw.

like it wasn’t already a habit you couldn’t break.

you always brought it. whether or not you used it.

the only times it didn’t were when you forgot it completely or were dragged to one of your parents’ fancy banquets—where everything was too polished, too formal, and too suffocating for something as vulnerable as that.

you held it for a moment, thumb brushing over the worn cover. it felt heavier than it should have.

still, you opened it.

you flipped through the pages with practiced ease, your fingers moving faster the closer you got to the ones of him.

you didn’t stop.

you didn’t let your eyes linger.

you skipped past them like they meant nothing—even though they did.

once you reached a blank page, you laid the sketchbook flat on the table, smoothing it open.

you reached into your bag again, pulling out the small pouch that held your pencils, erasers, sharpener, and blending tools.

your eyes shifted between the blank page and the view just beyond the window.

people walked by—some alone, some in pairs, some speaking with their hands while others kept their heads down.

you wanted to capture it.

not their faces, not exact likenesses, but the feeling.

the essence of movement—of separate lives unfolding at the same time.

you wanted to draw what it meant for everyone to be living so differently, all while passing through the same sunlight.

your pencil hovered above the paper.

you weren’t sure where to start.

but still, you wanted to try.

you worked in silence, the world outside the window moving around you while your own world narrowed to the page in front of you.

a clean start.

or at least, that’s what you were hoping for.

even without your headphones on, you didn’t hear your name being called.

you were too absorbed—lost in the lines, in the way your pencil moved without needing to think.

it wasn’t until a sudden voice beside you broke through the quiet that your attention snapped.

your head lifted slightly, startled, fingers still resting against the page.

“didn’t think i’d find you here.”

you froze.

your heart stuttered in your chest before you even turned to face them properly.

but you already knew.

you didn’t need to hear his name, didn’t need to see his face to recognize the voice that had been living rent-free in your head for days.

slowly, you turned to the person fully.

and there he was.

hongjoong.

he was standing by your table, holding what seemed to be the drink and pastry you had ordered earlier.

his eyes were amused, his smirk lazy—calm in a way that made everything inside you feel the exact opposite.

there was just enough familiarity in his gaze to knock the air right out of your lungs.

he glanced down at your sketchbook with a tilt of his head, brow raised in quiet amusement.

“is that me?” he asked, teasing.

your heart dropped.

you could feel the heat rush to your face, your entire body going stiff in a flash of panic.

“huh?”

you snapped your gaze down to the page in front of you, bracing for the worst.

but when your eyes finally focused, all you saw was what you had actually meant to draw—the street outside the café, figures in motion, the quiet chaos of daily life.

no eyes like his. no familiar curve of a smile.

just lines.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

when you looked back at him, he was chuckling softly.

“i’m only joking,” he said, the smirk on his face still lingering, but his tone gentler now.

he placed the drink and pastry on the table in front of you. “hope you don’t mind that i brought you your stuff. i was ordering when they called your name, and when i saw you distracted… i figured you didn’t hear them the second time. so i grabbed them and brought them over.”

he spoke casually, like it was nothing. like it wasn’t unraveling you a little more with every word.

you blinked, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

“do you mind if i sit with you?” he asked it gently, fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table, like he wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.

you responded with a quiet noise and a simple nod, letting the silence carry what you couldn’t say.

he seemed to take that as enough, sliding into the bench in front of you and sitting down across from you, his movements unhurried, calm in a way that only made your pulse quicken more.

you still felt the warmth on your face from your embarrassment. still, your eyes drifted to the drink and pastry in front of you.

once you were sure you wouldn’t fumble your words, you cleared your throat again. “thank you for bringing me my stuff. i didn’t hear them call my name. i really appreciate it.”

he waved it off with a smile. “it’s nothing. honestly, i’m kind of glad you didn’t—if you had, i wouldn’t have gotten the chance to play the hero. or even notice you hiding in the corner like some mysterious café stranger.”

you let out a quiet but nervous laugh, the tension easing just slightly. “i wouldn’t say mysterious café stranger. i’m more like… a random person keeping to themselves in a corner.”

his smile widened, and he leaned back a little in his seat. “well, i noticed. you seem to keep to yourself a lot.”

you tilted your head slightly, brows raising—not defensive, just curious.

he sat back upright, somewhat panicked. “not that it’s bad, you know? i’m just saying… i always seem to find you alone. keeping to yourself. it’s like—”

he paused, letting out a breathy laugh, “—like you exist just slightly out of reach. not in a weird way or anything, just… you’re there, but not really trying to be noticed. which, i guess, makes it kind of hard not to notice.”

his words trailed off, eyes flicking away like he hadn’t meant to say all of that out loud.

when he finally made eye contact with you again, you paused for a moment, watching the way his confidence flickered just slightly at the edges.

then you laughed—soft, genuine, a little amused. “i didn’t know you could get this nervous, hongjoong.”

his lips parted, caught somewhere between pretending to be offended and not knowing how to respond.

“i’m not nervous,” he said, too quickly. then, with a grin, “okay—maybe just a little. you’re not exactly the easiest person to read, you know.”

you leaned back slightly, still smiling. “i didn’t think i was that hard to read.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you kind of are. quiet, observant, always sketching something… it’s like you’ve got a whole world in your head no one’s allowed into.”

that made you still for a second—not because he was wrong, but because he wasn’t.

you looked down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim.

you hummed, eyes flicking up to meet his.

then, with a teasing lilt in your voice, you asked, “how many times have you seen me for you to know such things about me?”

you watched him carefully, amusement dancing in your eyes, already knowing the answer would probably surprise you.

he shrugged, but there was a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“enough,” he said simply. “more than you’d think.”

and the way he said it—calm, unbothered, just a little smug, made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

the sound of his name being called from the counter broke the moment.

he turned toward the voice, then looked back at you.

“i’ll be right back,” he said, voice softer now—like he didn’t want to leave the space the two of you had just created.

you nodded, and as soon as you did, he stood and walked off to grab his order.

your eyes followed him for a second longer than you meant to before dropping back down to your sketchbook—his seat still warm across from you.

you looked back out the window, then let your gaze drop to your sketch again. your eyes narrowed slightly.

it could be better. some of the details were still missing, a few lines too light, others not quite right.

but it was enough—for now.

if you couldn’t focus with just the thought of him, it would only get worse with him sitting right in front of you.

you closed the sketchbook softly, slipping it off the table before gathering your utensils and tucking them back into your pouch.

a moment later, hongjoong sat down again with a quiet huff, placing his drink and pastry in front of him.

his eyes flicked to your now-closed sketchbook on your lap, then back to you.

“what were you drawing?” he asked, casually—though his tone held just enough curiosity to make you wonder how long he’d been thinking about it.

“oh—um, i was drawing the people i saw walking by outside,” you said, your fingers lightly brushing over the zipper of your pouch. “i was waiting for my name to be called, and when i looked out the window, it just… felt like the perfect time.”

you glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

“it’s not finished or anything,” you added quickly. “just rough sketches. nothing special.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward as he unwrapped his pastry.

his gaze lingered, and it made you nervous—like he was seeing more than you meant to show.

you looked down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim once again. “it’s just that… i saw people just living in the moment, and i find it fascinating that we’re all under the same sky, but we’re all going through different moments.”

you kept talking, rambling without meaning to—caught up in the thought. “like… we’re all walking past each other, carrying things no one else sees. and sometimes it’s nice to just… capture that.”

you trailed off when you noticed the way he was looking at you—quiet, focused, unreadable in a way that made your breath catch.

“ah—sorry,” you said quickly. “was i going on for too long?”

hongjoong shook his head, a gentle smile forming. “no. not at all.”

he paused, then added, “i doubt anything you draw is just ‘nothing special,’ especially if you’re the one seeing it that way.”

he took a sip from his drink, his eyes still on you. “i mean, you zone out so hard when you’re drawing, it’s kind of intense. makes me wonder what you’re actually seeing.”

his words weren’t mocking. if anything, they felt… genuine, curious.

like he meant every word of it.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

he wasn’t teasing.

he wasn’t joking.

he meant it.

you felt the warmth creeping back up your neck, your instinct kicking in to soften the moment before it became too real.

“you make it sound like i’m seeing some deep, hidden truth,” you said with a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “it’s not that serious. i just… get carried away sometimes.”

“exactly,” he said, leaning forward again, his voice softer now. “that’s what makes it interesting.”

you didn’t know what to say to that.

so you looked down at your drink, smiling to yourself, a little stunned, a little shy.

you weren’t used to someone paying attention like that.

he pushed the plate with your pastry closer to you, his expression somewhere between amused and gently insistent.

“eat,” he said. “you’ve hardly touched what you ordered. don’t be shy—i’m almost finished with mine and you were here before me.”

you giggled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

his words, his tone—it was all so casual, but it warmed you more than you expected.

you nodded, still smiling, and began tucking your pouch and sketchbook away, setting them gently into your bag before reaching for the pastry.

it felt… safe.

as you brought your drink to your lips, hongjoong leaned back in his seat again, that familiar glint of amusement returning to his eyes.

“so,” he said casually, “now that i’ve caught you once again… does this mean i can have your number?”

the words were smooth, but there was something genuine tucked beneath the playfulness—like he meant it, even if he said it with a grin.

you raised an eyebrow over the rim of your cup, taking a slow sip before setting it down. “so that’s your plan? catch me off guard and ask for my number while i’m mid-sip?”

hongjoong chuckled, unbothered. “worked, didn’t it?”

you leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow on the table, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “depends. how often do you ask mysterious strangers for their number at cafés?”

he held a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “ouch. you wound me.”

you shrugged,“not really… but it was fun to say.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “so.. is that a maybe?”

you let the silence hang for a beat, drawing it out just enough to make him wait. “ask me again when you finish your pastry.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, clearly accepting the challenge.

“finish my pastry, huh?” he said, eyes locked with yours, a smug little smile tugging at his lips.

before you could say anything else, he picked up what was left of it and took a dramatic bite—then another, and another.

until there was nothing left but crumbs and a smug sense of triumph.

he dusted his hands off exaggeratedly and leaned back, eyes gleaming.

“done,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“so,” he continued, tapping the table lightly, “do i get your number now, or are you gonna switch up again?”

you stared at him, half-amused, half-stunned.

“…that was kind of impressive,” you admitted, laughing under your breath.

“i’m kind of determined,” he replied, voice softer this time. “especially when it comes to you.”

you pretended to think, eyes narrowing playfully as you peeled the wrapper from your pastry—unaware of what he last said.

“hmm… i don’t know,” you said, dragging the words out. “what if i wanted to try your pastry? now i can’t, because you finished it before i could even ask.”

hongjoong pouted dramatically, then shrugged like he’d already prepared for this exact scenario.

“easy solution,” he said. “i’ll buy a dozen. maybe more. all for you—if it means i get your number and get to spend the rest of today with you.”

you quirked a brow, feigning suspicion. “oh really?”

he nodded, completely serious now. “really.”

there was no teasing in his voice anymore—just that soft certainty that made your heart skip a beat.

you took a slow bite of your pastry, pretending to weigh your options.

“hmm… that is a pretty tempting offer,” you said, voice light. “but what if you’re just saying that to get my number and then vanish?”

hongjoong placed a hand over his heart, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “you really think i’d disappear after offering you a dozen pastries? that’s… cold.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “fine. you win.”

you reached into your bag, pulled out your phone, and slid it across the table toward him. “put your number in. if i don’t get at least one pastry out of this, i’m blocking you.”

his grin returned instantly as he picked up your phone. “deal. but i’m aiming for at least three.”

you rolled your eyes playfully as you took another sip of your drink, then nudged your plate toward him. “do you want some?”

he pointed to himself with exaggerated shock. “are you talking to little ole’ me?”

you stifled a laugh, biting down a smile. “who else would i be talking to?”

he leaned in just a little, resting his chin in his hand as he grinned. “i don’t know, you just seemed so mysterious earlier. i wasn’t sure if i’d earned the right to share pastries with you yet.”

“well,” you said, nudging the plate again, “consider this your reward for being persistent.”

he reached for a piece, still grinning. “best reward i’ve ever gotten.”

he excused himself for a moment to go back to the counter, saying something about needing to grab more pastries to go.

you watched him from your seat, amused at how serious he seemed about it.

when he returned, small paper bag in hand, the two of you picked up where you left off—talking easily, the conversation flowing as if it had always been there waiting.

you both took turns asking questions, getting to know each other.

simple things at first—favorite movies, worst childhood haircut, the kind of music you played when no one was listening.

and then, somewhere in the middle of it, he mentioned it. casually, like it wasn’t anything important.

“i’m actually part of a band,” he said, sipping from his drink.

your head tilted slightly, eyes lighting up with curiosity.“wait, seriously?”

he nodded, lips curling into a small, amused smile.“yeah. we’ve been playing together for a while now. it’s kind of a big part of my life.”

“what do you do in the band?” you asked, leaning in a little without realizing.

he glanced at you, clearly holding back a grin. “i write most of our stuff. i rap. sometimes i produce. play guitar when we perform live—depends on the song, really.”

you blinked, visibly impressed. “so… you’re kind of a big deal on campus.”

he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “depends who you ask. i guess people know us, yeah. we play at a lot of the events, campus fests, open mic nights—stuff like that.”

your mouth opened slightly, eyes wide. “wow. that’s actually really cool.”

you bit your cheek, hesitating for just a second before blurting it out. “how have i never heard of you guys? or even known you were in a band? we’re literally on the same campus. in the same year.”

hongjoong grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “guess you’ve been too busy hiding in your sketchbook to notice.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, fighting back a smile.“maybe i just wasn’t looking in the right places. i don’t really pay attention to the people around me.”

“well,” he said, voice warm and smug all at once, “lucky for me, you’re looking now.”

you scoffed lightly, looking away in an attempt to seem unfazed.

“don’t get too confident,” you muttered, taking a sip from your drink to hide the way your lips were twitching into a smile.

he chuckled, clearly catching it anyway.

“too late,” he said. “confidence is kind of my thing.”

you shook your head, setting your cup down. “so is being annoyingly smug, apparently.”

hongjoong leaned in just slightly, elbow on the table, eyes locked on yours. “only when it works.”

you tried to hold his gaze, tried to look unimpressed.

but your smile betrayed you.

just a faint curve of your lips—barely there, but enough.

he noticed. of course he did.

you sighed, shaking your head with mock defeat. “fine. maybe just a little.”

his grin widened, pleased.

“i’ll take it,” he said, sitting back like he’d won something.

and maybe he had.

you looked down at your hands, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your cup once again.

“you’re not that bad to talk to,” you added softly, almost like an afterthought.

he glanced at you, something gentler settling in his expression. “you’re not either.”

you checked your phone for the time, seeing that it’s barely the early afternoon.

you looked back at him with a playful grin, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“well then,” you said, nudging your cup aside, “we should probably get going, shouldn’t we? we’ve got a whole day ahead of us.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “is that your way of saying you’re spending the rest of the day with me?”

you stood, grabbing your bag along with the groceries you had bought earlier and tossing him a look over your shoulder. “you did promise me pastries, didn’t you?”

he laughed, standing up to follow. “right. pastries. totally not just an excuse to keep you around.”

he reached out to take the grocery bags from your hands, glancing toward the parking lot.

“want to leave these in my car for now?” he offered.

you hesitated, shaking your head lightly. “oh, i don’t want to bother you with anything like that. i can just carry them.”

he frowned, already taking the bags. “there’s no need when my car’s parked right around the corner. we can just drop them off and grab them again before you head home.”

he paused, then added, softer, “and… you’d never be a bother.”

you scrunched your nose at him playfully. “let me find out you’re just doing this to trap me into spending more time with you.”

he smirked, eyes gleaming. “don’t act like you don’t enjoy my company, princess.”

you stuck your tongue out at him in response, and he chuckled, shaking his head.

you walked beside him as he led the way to his car, your steps light, the atmosphere warmer than the sun beaming overhead.

“so,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “do you make it a habit to charm girls with pastries and trunk space?”

he laughed under his breath. “only the ones who sketch strangers in cafés and pretend they don’t know what effect they have.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“that was oddly specific,”you muttered.

“maybe,”he said, unlocking his car,“but not untrue.”

he opened the trunk and gently set your bags inside like they were something fragile.

you watched quietly for a second, something soft settling in your chest.

he wasn’t just charming—he was attentive. and that scared you a little more than you wanted to admit.

“there,”he said, turning back to you, brushing his hands off with a grin. “safe and sound. now you’re free to roam the world with me.”

“wow,” you said, crossing your arms. “you’re dramatic and efficient.”

“away can i say?” he agreed proudly. “i’m multitalented.”

“oh, whatever,” you said, brushing him off with mock exasperation.

but the smile on your face betrayed you—soft, unshakable, and real.

your cheeks were starting to ache from how much you’d smiled around him, and it hadn’t even been that long.

he noticed.

of course he did.

his eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, warm and amused, like he was committing the expression to memory.

and for a second, neither of you said anything.

just silence.

comfortable.

curious.

close.

“well then,” he said, closing the trunk with a soft thud, “where to now?”

you pursed your lips, eyes drifting upward like you were consulting the sky for answers.

then something flickered behind your gaze.

“there’s a thrift store nearby—right next to the café we were just at. there’s also an antique shop,” you added, pointing back toward the direction you came from. “tucked behind that little bookstore with the crooked sign.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “you thrift?”

you shrugged, smiling. “i like finding things with a little history. books, trinkets… they always feel like they belonged to someone else’s story first.”

you hesitated, then added,“plus, i think i need a change of style. the one i have doesn’t feel like me anymore.”

his smile softened, something thoughtful in the way he looked at you. “so you’re sentimental and mysterious. noted.”

you bumped your shoulder against his lightly as you turned to walk. “are you coming or what?”

“wouldn’t miss it,” he said, already falling in step beside you.

you both talked as you walked toward the store, your steps light, laughter slipping out more often than you expected. everything felt easy with him—oddly enough. but you didn’t question it. at least not now.

inside, the two of you drifted from aisle to aisle, exchanging jokes and teasing remarks as you browsed.

hongjoong would stop in front of the most absurd little trinkets, pointing dramatically.

“what the heck? what are you doing here?” he’d say to a tiny ceramic deer or a glittery gnome.

at one point, he held up a figure of two frogs dancing, looking at you with a deadpan expression. “this could literally be us.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “shut up,” you muttered, grinning so hard your cheeks ached.

while digging through a rack of clothes, you found a shirt with an atrocious graphic and immediately held it up.

“hongjoong,” you called, voice laced with fake seriousness. “this is so you. you’d look amazing.”

he gasped in amazement and replied without missing a beat,“oh, i could totally rock that.”

the store echoed with your shared laughter as you each picked through clothes, sometimes seriously, sometimes not.

he helped you find a few genuinely cute pieces, giving you his full opinion with surprising thoughtfulness.

and you did the same, holding things up to his frame, joking but also quietly noting what actually suited him.

at one point, you spotted a necklace tucked away between two display trays—silver, understated, something about it just… reminded you of him.

it seemed to have another piece to it that completes it, but even after searching between the shelves you had no luck of finding the other half.

without a word, you slipped it into your cart, hidden beneath a jacket.

you weren’t sure when or how you’d give it to him—you just knew you wanted to.

after paying for your things, the two of you wandered down the street toward the antique shop. the energy between you hadn’t faded—it lingered, easy and familiar, like a song stuck on loop but one you didn’t mind hearing.

“so,” hongjoong started, glancing over at you with a curious tilt of his head, “how’d you even find all these places?”

you pursed your lips slightly, thinking. “well i was running an errand. went to the grocery store i always go to when i’m back home. but after i got what i needed, i didn’t really feel like going back yet. so i wandered a bit and noticed they added a café next to the thrift shop i always go to—which is just across the street from the grocery store.”

you shrugged. “as for the antique shop, it’s always been there. i honestly don’t even remember how i found it. it just sort of appeared one day and i never stopped going. it’s been my holy grail ever since. i always find the best stuff there.”

you turned to him, giving him a mock serious look as you pointed a finger at his chest. “so don’t go around telling people or else.”

you narrowed your eyes playfully. “i’m dead serious. if i show up one day and it’s suddenly packed, i’m blaming you.”

he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender before looking around confused. “antique shop? what antique shop?”

you grinned, satisfied. “good. that’s what i like to hear.”

you reached for his hand without a second thought, instinct guiding you as you tugged him toward the shop. “c’mon then.”

you turned to him, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes and a smile playing on your lips. “we don’t have all day.”

you caught him off guard with the sudden pull, but when you glanced back at him, his hesitation melted into a smile, and he followed without missing another beat.

the bell chimed when you both walked into the door. the smell of the store surrounded you both quickly.

the air was thick with the scent of aged wood, worn leather, and old paper—like time trapped in dust and sunlight. there was something faintly sweet beneath it all, maybe dried flowers or old perfume lingering on forgotten fabrics.

hongjoong looked around, eyes wide with quiet wonder. you smiled. “cool, huh?”

he turned to you with a gleam in his eye—like he was seeing something even better than the store. your smile deepened, and without a word, you tugged him across the shop.

once you made it to the other end, you let go of his hand and turned to face him fully.

“i like to start at the back and make my way up,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. “it’s better that way. it’s only fair that i show you the proper way to shop around here.” you finished with a wink, already half-turning like you expected him to follow.

you moved through the shelves and displays, casually browsing, but your eyes kept drifting back to check if hongjoong was still behind you. he was.

you didn’t really need to look—you could feel him there, his presence steady and close but something in you liked the reassurance.

when you’d grabbed his hand earlier, you didn’t mean to and it hadn’t been a full hold—your fingers weren’t interlaced, just touching.

but now, with that small contact gone, it left a strange sort of absence.

PART II

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ MIV— this was going to be one part but.. it said i have a 1000 text block limit. i promise there’s more, i just was forced to have it in more than one part.. sorry guys. i’ve had this in drafts for a while, i started this on may 14... part two has been started already but im far away from finished. also, i’m sorry for being gone for longer than i promised, there has been a lot going on right now. i also have some ideas for the other members in this same au, just different tropes.

please DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate ANY of my works in any way.